


Daydreams

by Sorin



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aftercare, Body Worship, Bondage, Daydreaming, Dominance, Drinking Games, Even More Feels and entirely on brand :Db, F/M, Feels, Female Miqo'te - Freeform, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Shower Sex, Teasing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wet & Messy, because I needed the EARS OKAY, lots of warm fuzzies, not a hint of plot in sight folks, not even a little bit, very soft, very soft feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-01-27 12:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21391912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorin/pseuds/Sorin
Summary: A collection of one-shots, pairings will probably vary some but for now it's mainly going to be Exarch/WoL :Db This will contain SPOILERS up to current content, but I'll mark where the most current patch spoilers are.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 157
Kudos: 351





	1. table of contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of one-shots to replace Reflection, which hasn't been updated in forever. I'll start putting all the good stuff here:)

1\. table of contents

2\. daydreams | wolxexarch | explicit | m/m

3\. yours | wolxexarch | mature | ambiguous

4\. never have i ever | wolxg'raha | explicit | m/f

5\. veiled | wolxexarch | explicit | ambiguous

6\. have you back | wolxexarch | explicit | m/m specific

7\. the wedding gift | wolxexarch | explicit | ambiguous

8\. looking in | wolxg'raha | explicit | m/m specific

9\. at your mercy | wolxexarch | explicit | m/m specific

10\. i love you | wolxg'raha | explicit | m/m ambiguous

11\. duet | wolxg'raha | explicit | ambiguous

12\. touch-starved | wolxexarch | explicit | ambiguous


	2. Daydreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally worked up the courage to join the Exarch Discord, being fairly shy and a bit daunted by the idea, but- I'm very glad I did, because it spawned this lovely idea that at least got me writing after a few days of writer's block. :Db
> 
> Not a hint of plot here, like, not even a little. Entirely, completely, 100% NSFW. If that's not your thing, you shouldn't be here- but if it is, I hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know what made you think of this. You know you _shouldn’t_ be thinking of it, but, well…

… you can’t help but _wonder._

It isn’t like you’re entirely ignoring him and the others, after all; with all of you pleasantly buzzed at the least, you can easily hide behind alcohol’s fuzzy blanket with all manner of thoughts that would have Thancred blushing if you dared share them. Your tail swishes slowly as you watch them, as you watch G’raha, specifically- he’s talking with Urianger, though you have no idea what about, but he looks very happy. He talks with his hands when he’s happy, you’ve noticed- he gestures all the time, as though he can paint a picture for whomever it is he’s speaking with. It is on his hands you focus first, one ear flicking absently… his right, specifically.

For all that you can tell, it is every bit as pliable as flesh and bone. He’s touched you with it once or twice, a friendly clap on the shoulder or a pat on the back, and you think it feels like heated glass- and yet it doesn’t _seem_ fragile. He was right-handed back then and remains so now, wielding his staff with it and gripping it easily all the while. Without the play of tendon and muscle, though… _how?_ And furthermore, what is the _rest_ of the crystal like? You’d been lucky enough to see him shirtless a couple times in Mor Dhona, and it had been _literally_ all you could do to keep yourself from drooling- his body was perfectly sculpted, sleekly muscled thanks to his dedication to his archery, and you’d had to turn away swiftly- but the lashing of your tail probably gave you away. Thankfully, if he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.

Thankfully, and _unfortunately._

You wonder, though… does he look the same, now? For all he’s claimed to be old and infirm, he certainly doesn’t look it, and when you’d embraced him after all was said and done, he’d not _felt_ it. In fact, he’d felt as lean and lithe as he’d been before, and he’d proven that in Holminster Switch and Kholusia both. You’d been awestruck at seeing him whip out a sword and shield of pure aether, putting himself between you and the sin eaters so that you could get a clear strike at them without risking being wounded. It didn’t cease to amaze you, _ever,_ how much he cared for you… and yet.

And _yet._

He’s been shy around you, a little skittish, and you wonder if he still would be if you just took him by the hand and kissed him. You wonder how he’d react if you buried your fingers in his hair, if you tugged it out of its tie to let it fall loose about his shoulders. You would brush your hands over his ears, stroke them, press them down, and he’d sigh in pleasure and tip his head into your touch- would he ask for more? You think he might, and by the Twelve, you’d give it to him. You’d ghost your lips along his jaw until he tipped his chin up, feel his pulse fluttering beneath your tongue, feel him shiver against you as you drew it along the seam of crystal and skin. His hands would flex gently at your waist, would drift behind you and fist in your shirt- or maybe you wouldn’t be wearing one, maybe your clothing would have already been taken care of.

Ah, but _then_ you would want to look at him in the light, would want to see it bathe him in the glow of the sunrise. How the crystal would _shine,_ you think, how it would glitter with each movement, each _breath._ You would draw your lips further down the right side of his neck, over his collarbone and lower, and his breath would hitch- he’d put his left hand on the back of your head, cradle it against his body, unwilling to let you stray too far. You would show him, _remind_ him, that he is magnificent- for he’d certainly thought so before, you think, amused, and your ears flick before you sink back into your daydream. You’d never let him forget, _never,_ and should he afford you the chance to do more…

… your lips would ghost down his chest, pause over his pounding heart. Maybe he’d be nervous, maybe a little shy- or maybe he’d just be excited by you, _aroused_ by you. You like that thought _much_ better. You would drag your tongue over a stiff nipple, would then drag kisses to the other side to see if he’d respond the same way with the crystal in the way- he would gasp and arch his back, his tail would wrap around your waist, and he would say-

“Are you all right?” 

_What?_

You snap out of your daydream just like that- and nearly fall out of your chair. Your tail has fluffed to a truly impressive size, and he laughs quietly at you. He sits beside you at the Wandering Stairs, his chair fairly close to yours, and nudges your half-empty mug. “You haven’t had that much, have you?” he teases. “You’ve been staring at me as though in a trance.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling heat creeping up your neck as your ears pin down. “Oh, I- I’m sorry, I was… I was thinking about- something else.” Something else indeed, something you probably shouldn't have, but... well, how _do_ you tell someone you've been having erotic fantasies about them with them quite literally ilms away?

His full lips curve into a smile, and you wish you could taste it. You wish you could taste _him._ “So I see,” he says, amused. “Come, let’s get you to your bed before you topple out of your chair. ‘twould be remiss of me to allow the Warrior of Darkness to take injury from such a silly thing.”

The others, you notice, have more or less begun to disperse. How long had you been _thinking_ about him? You rise unsteadily, and he stands and takes your arm. You blush fiercely and shake your head, ears quivering with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. “I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m fine, the Pendants is right there-!”

“So it is,” G’raha replies with a warm chuckle. “A good thing, as I’m not certain I wish to test my strength by carrying you further.”

_Carrying_ you? _Would_ he? All you want now is to be blissfully ensconced in your room behind a _very_ locked door, that you might enjoy your fantasies without interruption- because _that_ idea sends tingles up and down your spine. You don’t know what’s come over you, you think dimly, but you don’t care so long as you can enjoy it.

When you reach the door of your suite, he waits for you to unlock it before stepping back with a soft laugh. “Take care of yourself, my friend… I fear you’re going to have a headache come morning. I’ll bring you some tea.”

You smile blissfully. “Thank you,” you say, because he’s going to come _back,_ and _that_ means you’ll get him all to yourself for at least a little while. He bids you a good night, and you think you certainly will have one- you can’t lock the door and vault across the room fast enough. The lights aren’t on, which is perfect, that means less work- you shuck your clothing off and climb between the cool sheets, then reach down and take yourself in hand. You _ache_ for him, and you wonder- if he knew… would he stay?

Would he… _help_ you?

You imagine his warm body next to yours, solid and _real._ You’d roll over on top of him, straddle him, scatter kisses over his face and neck before drawing lower down his body. He would arch beneath you, tangle his hands in your hair- maybe he’d play with your ears, stroke them to make them quiver. You’d huff against his skin, and he’d laugh- ah, that _laugh!_ Not for long, though, you’d have him moaning your name in short order, laving your tongue over a stiffened nipple and sucking softly on it to hear him cry out. You wonder what the other would feel like- is it covered with crystal? Would it stiffen beneath your lips as well? Maybe he would like it if you bit down- _ever_ so gently. He would gasp your name and whine, maybe he would press his hips upward…

… and _there?_

Your mind paints an erotic picture of him spread out on your bed, hair fanned out on the pillow, flushed and _wanting._ If the crystal continued you would follow it downward, over his flat stomach, over the sharp curve of his hipbone. You imagine pressing searing hot kisses to the seam of crystal and skin, soft hair tickling your cheek and nose, kissing lower and lower until he’s panting and _begging_ you. You would certainly grant his wish, you think- you would lap at the fluid that slicked his skin, would slowly draw more and more of him into your mouth…

“_Raha,_” you breathe, stroking yourself faster as your tail lashes against the sheets. His would too, you think, white-tipped like his hair- maybe he’d curl it around you as you pleasured him. … but you have to wonder, even still- how far _does_ the crystal go? Would it wrap around him like your hand? You imagine it with patches of skin still showing, the crystal smooth and delicate, and you imagine the sound he’d make when you take him in all the way. What a wonderful contrast it would be, hot throughout, and you shake and push the blankets back as you feel the pleasure coiling tight in your belly.

_Please,_ he’d beg you- he’d beg _so_ sweetly, and you’d grant his wish, let him thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth. His head would fall back on the pillow as his hands clutched your hair, his thighs would tighten against your shoulders, strong muscles quivering beneath the onslaught of pleasure. He’d sing your name over and over, with nary a care for who might hear- and you chant his like a prayer as you begin to realize how very close you are. He’d come undone for you within moments, arching powerfully and crying out, pulsing between your lips as he spilled inside your mouth- or maybe you’d draw back just a little, _just_ enough to make those ruby eyes widen when he finally pushed himself up to look at you…

“Raha, Raha, _Raha-!_” Your voice breaks as you lose command of yourself, imagining him twitching and throbbing in your hand- you come with him in this particular version, gritting your teeth and tensing all over as your orgasm shakes you head to toe. You collapse back to the mattress in a sweaty, panting heap, still slowly stroking your length and imagining him covering your body with his, kissing you over and over, breathing your name, telling you how wonderful you are, how amazing he feels.

_I love you, I love you…_

You barely have the presence of mind to clean up after yourself, and you smile sleepily as you tug the blankets up to your chin. It occurs to you, distantly, that he _does_ have that portal of his… and, well, maybe he’d been worried about you, drunk as you are.

Maybe he’d watched… maybe he’d come with _you._

You curl up and laugh softly, almost giddily. Sleep will catch up with you quickly, but that’s fine, because you’ll see him in the morning… and maybe in the morning, you’ll have the courage to find the answers to all of these questions you have.

\--

Across the Crystarium, deep within the confines of the Tower, ruby eyes with pupils blown wide stare at the portal as their owner pants. He is disheveled, his robes hastily shoved out of his way and askew, his lips felt swollen from how he’d bitten them… and the sound of your name still rings in his ears. The sound of _his_ name still rings in his ears, Azeyma _help_ him—

… but maybe it was a good thing, he thinks. Maybe in the morning, he’d have more than idle daydreams, more than nights spent in secret as he watched you. Maybe he’d even tell you, someday, cheeks the same color as his hair. That you were thinking of _him, ahh…_ he’d been entirely unable to help himself.

He chuckles wearily and drops his head back against the wall. What a pair the two of you are, but- when morning comes, he will bring you tea, as promised… and he will make _sure_ the two of you aren’t bothered. Maybe even for the rest of the day.

Maybe the rest of the _week._

Maybe he’d just kidnap you to the Tower and—

… he smiles, and closes his eyes. What a pleasant thought… maybe he really _would._


	3. Yours

When first he’d brushed crystalline fingertips over the pages of history, G’raha Tia had seen your name writ large in legend, just as he’d expected to. That you had died, perhaps alone and afraid, had shattered his heart and left him weak and weary- he’d cried himself hoarse, until his throat was raw and his eyes burned, until he had not one single more tear to give you. He wished he could give you more than that, and thus did crimson eyes turn toward that goal… across time, across space, across distances he’d never even dreamed of travelling.

Those pages had spoken of your deeds, lovingly and carefully retold by a man who perhaps might have been a father figure to you- Count Edmont de Fortemps. He had spared no detail save for those he was not privy to, and G’raha has long since memorized every single word. Time has not claimed this book, no; he has lovingly preserved it in a case of crystal that only he may open, and it looks as new as it had when first he’d acquired it… which is to say, perhaps mere ilms from falling apart, but for him- who often feels the same- it is enough. Over and over had he read of your journey through Ishgard, of your fondness for his son and his son’s singular devotion to you. It is perhaps from Haurchefant de Fortemps that this idea had come, in some odd manner of speaking, for in the end his own actions would have been the same.

… and yet in a blast of spark and gunpowder, a bullet of heavy lead had lodged itself into his back, and his spell- along with his sense of self- unraveled in the air. He’d stumbled toward you, had _reached_ for you, but he’d collapsed before making it much further. Upon waking, he reflected that the bullet had been somehow majicked… for _surely_ you had taken _much_ worse and remained standing! He himself had taken a sound beating in Holminster Switch, even from the Lightwarden, and had been fine. The Ascian’s power was not to be underestimated, and _that,_ perhaps, had been the fatal flaw in his plan… or, perhaps, the flaw which breathed life back into it.

Ah… what a strange thought.

More than once, G’raha Tia had felt as though he had been in the wrong place. He’d not fit in with his tribe save his family, he’d not really fit in at Sharlayan- for what manner of scholar pranced about with bow and harp alike, climbing to heights most could only look at with nary an onze of fear? Nay, one might better say it was with nary an onze of self-preservation, but for all he’d felt out of place no matter where he went, one thing remained constant all along. He was a dreamer, a romantic at heart, and no matter how many he charmed and lay with there was always something missing… and though he knew ballads and stories were little more than that, his eager mind and yearning heart had seized to them and held tight.

… and then, he’d seen _you._

Over and over had he read through every account he could find of your life, historically accurate or, ah, _questionable_ at best. Some of these stories he thought would make you turn scarlet, and they amuse him… but he knew better. He is idealistic but not unrealistic; he knows that he is not the only lover you have had- he hopes you’d had more after him, the Twelve knew you needed _something_ to keep you sane… but part of him smiles even so, when reading the somewhat _colorful_ retellings of your tales. He knows the whisper of your skin against his, the warmth of your hands and mouth, the carefully controlled strength of your body. He knows the way you murmur softly when you wake, the way you stretch and press closer, the way you’re never _quite_ ready to face the day- not just yet, not in the softness of the blankets and the warmth of a lover’s embrace.

Thankfully, _those_ details remained missing; he was uncertain as to what he’d have done had someone so close to you written about you in such a way. He thinks he would have been scandalized.

As once he had brushed his fingers over parchment, the ink thereon holding at least some of the answers to the questions that had burned him to ash from within, those selfsame fingers now glitter in the soft light of dawn as he brushes them through your hair. _Dawn,_ he thinks, what a truly abstract concept at this point… but it suits the First well, _you_ suit the First well. The Crystarium utterly adores you, but… nobody more so than the Crystal Exarch, and there is _probably_ not a single soul in all of Norvrandt who doesn’t know it. It was without hesitation that he had done all of this, without question, without _doubt._ All along he has believed in you, all along he has feared the inevitability of causing you yet more pain- hiding his face, his ears, his tail, his _name,_ those had all come at a price… and yet it was one he had gladly paid, _would_ gladly pay _again_ if it could but afford you the chance to _live._

You are still asleep and he is loathe to wake you, and truly, there’s no reason to. He himself does not sleep, not since merging himself with the Tower and becoming perhaps more… more _construct_ than _Seeker,_ though he must meditate to get his thoughts in order at least once in a while. The longer he goes without the more manic he becomes, and he had realized early on that if he wished to keep hold of his sanity whilst taking advantage of the tenuous immortality the Tower had granted him, he _did_ have to rest at times. He hated every moment away from his study, every second that took him from you, for he had _done_ this to _rid_ himself of his mortal frailty… but, no matter. Thus, he thinks, does a spark of his humanity remain… in the brush of his tail against your legs, the songs he sings for you, the beat of his heart beneath your hand.

Somehow, he cannot stop looking at you. His eyes had followed you wherever you’d gone thanks to the portal in the Ocular, and thus had he made certain of your safety. He isn’t sure what he would have done if he’d had to intervene from such a distance, but he had a reckless sort of confidence that was firmly grounded in his faith in you. He did not believe you indestructible; no, history had proven otherwise and he still feels sick when he thinks about it, but he knew somehow that you would make it to the end of this journey… and perhaps you would have favored him with a smile, at the end.

Well- you had, as it turns out, on the platform suspended into the infinite sky. You had smiled at him, and you had said it was good to see him awake. You’d called him by his name, and he’d wept.

You stir a bit beneath his fingers and he stills their motion, but it is far enough into the morning that you have woken anyway. You sigh softly and wrap your arms all the tighter around him, pull him close and bury your face in his hair, and _ah,_ how his heart sings… how he loves you- how he _loves_ you.

The stillness of the Tower serves as a sanctuary for the two of you now rather than a place of self-imposed exile for him, and he loves it because you do. You are happy here, _relaxed_, and here he can hide you from the rest of the world for a little while. The Crystal Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness are gone, stripped away and left in the out of doors, for nothing save the most intimate would ever be enough- not for the two of you, not now. You lift a hand to rub his ears and he rewards you with a soft burble of pleasure, his voice low and gentle. He has always been putty in your hands, the years have done nothing to change this. He smiles, content to remain in the haze between asleep and awake with you, but you want to rise- and rise you do, up and over him, and when your lips meet his he is all too happy to wrap you in his arms and kiss you in return.

You are gentle with him, your touch soft and careful, and he is with you as well, because he’s seen too much violence inflicted on you- he only wants to bring you pleasure, and this he works to do with hands of glittering crystal and soft skin. You rest one hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat, quickened thanks to the heat in your gaze, and he lays peacefully beneath you, smiling from beneath heavy lids and long lashes. He is _utterly_ trusting, knowing that in your hands he will only ever be safe- you’ve proved it over and over, and he does not fear because he has no need to. His hands come to rest above his head as you set about your task, and he lets the pleasure mount as it will, as _you_ will it to. Your lips are even softer than your hands, and his own fist in the pillow as you make him see stars- not those in the night sky, though he thirsts for darkness like a man parched from so many years in the Light… stars of _your_ making, which to him burn all the brighter.

He feels himself drifting in the most incredible way, as though his body has become lighter than the air itself and is ever reaching to the top of the Tower and beyond. Everything you do to him is perfection, everything you make him feel makes him believe that there is more _Raha_ in him- his name on your lips still brings tears to his eyes- than the necessary Crystal Exarch. You lead him with love, with trust, and he follows you with faith and adoration. His blood sparkles and sings in his veins as he watches you, enthralled with your every motion, with your every expression- how badly you want him is plain, and he encourages you to take all that you will. When you do, he tips his head back and takes a slow breath as though the room is devoid of all air, and indeed it may very well be- you make him dizzy when you look at him like this, with your eyes shining and your lips curved into a smile that only _he_ ever sees.

In this, he thinks, you are his alone… and he is yours, forever, _always-_ until the stars burn out, until the heavens dim for the very last time.

He is_ yours._


	4. Never Have I Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to play what?” G’raha Tia, scholar and archer extraordinaire- if one were to ask him, anyway- asked in surprise.
> 
> “A game,” she- the Warrior of Light- says with an impish smile, ears up and tail swishing as she holds up a bottle and two shot glasses. “… unless you’re scared of getting drunk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by request- thanks for the fantastic idea!
> 
> As a note I haven't written het in an actual age so I ... hope ... it doesn't suck. :D;; the story is real light on plot, obviously. :Db

“You want to play what?” G’raha Tia, scholar and archer extraordinaire- if one were to ask him, anyway- asked in surprise.

“A game,” she- the Warrior of Light- says with an impish smile, ears up and tail swishing as she holds up a bottle and two shot glasses. “… unless you’re scared of getting drunk?”

G’raha’s eyes widen, and he blusters. “Scared? Me? Hardly. I’m scared I’ll hurt you, it looks like you could blow away in a stiff wind.”

She grins at him, and he feels his cheeks turning red. “Stiff, hmm?” she asks, but sets the glass down in front of him and sits across from him. The tent they share- for it had been all that was left when she’d arrived, much to his chagrin- is small but comfortable, and there’s enough space for them to sit cross-legged on the ground with their backs against their bedrolls. “All right! You’re ready, then?”

G’raha eyes the bottle, then clears his throat. “Of course,” he says, just a touch haughtily- it won’t do for her to see how nervous he is. This crush he’s developed is going nowhere fast, except toward getting more intense- and looking at her gives him butterflies. He watches as she fills both glasses, tail swishing against the blankets behind him. “How do we play?”

“It’s easy. I’ll say something I’ve never done before, and if you _have,_ you have to drink.” She grins and pours the alcohol- rum, he thinks, from the sweet scent of it. “Either way, you ask me next, and if I’ve done as you ask, I’ll drink. Make sense?” When he nods, she flicks her ears. “I’ll start. Let’s see… ah- I’ve never been to a fancy school before.”

“I- now that’s cheating,” G’raha protests, but she grins at him and he sighs, picking up the glass and draining it in a gulp. It burns going down, but it tastes pleasant enough- and leaves him feeling warm after. “All right,” he says, refilling his glass and smirking at her- two can play this game, and he’s not above it if she’s not. “_I’ve_ never razed a Castrum.”

“You’re catching on,” she purrs, taking her shot easily and pouring herself another. “I’ve never bought jewelry for someone else at the market.”

He blinks, then tilts his head. “… anyone?” he asks, and she nods. He pauses, then shrugs and drains his glass again- he can’t very well _lie,_ can he? And besides, it had been a gift for his mother, so while he’s not _entirely_ sure it counts… it’s close enough. “I’ve never bought flowers for someone outside of my family.”

She leans forward a little. “No?” she asks, surprised. “You? Hmm.” She shakes her head. “Sorry- I haven’t either.”

G’raha rests his chin on his hand, leaning on his elbow. This is both harder and easier than he’d expected, mainly because he doesn’t really know what to ask, though he _does_ want to get to know her better. “Ah… I’ve never studied a weapon other than the bow.”

“Heh.” She laughs quietly, the barest huff between her lips, and he hopes he isn’t blushing again. She takes her shot, then pours another. “I’ve never gotten seasick.”

“I haven’t.” G’raha grins triumphantly- they’re still tied. “By the way… how do we determine a winner?”

She laughs. “Whoever’s too drunk to continue loses,” she says with a wink. Azeyma help him, she’s _so_ lovely- he is going to need an iron grip on his self-control if things like this are going to happen.

He considers his next question carefully. He doesn’t want to go _too_ far, but, well… that seems to be the point of the game, considering that they’re going to wind up blind drunk. “I’ve never… I’ve never fallen off of my chocobo.”

That makes her laugh again, and the sound of it sends tingles through his entire body, and she takes her shot and winks at him. “I’ve fallen off _many_ times, and only a couple because of injury. Let’s see…” She taps her nails against the bottle before refilling her glass. “I’ve never learned to play an instrument.”

G’raha grins and shrugs, then downs his shot. He pauses, then blinks at the bottle as he reaches for it- _how_ many in are they, now? He wonders if they ought to wait a bit before they continue, lest they _really_ wind up sick- he doesn’t think the healers will appreciate it. “Where did you learn this game, anyway?” he asks curiously.

“Oh- I picked it up along the way,” she says with a shrug, smiling and twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “I’m surprised you’ve never played. Didn’t your friends in Sharlayan do things like this?”

“Hm… no, not really.” G’raha shrugs, pleasantly buzzed. “I didn’t have many, or rather, I wasn’t invited to parties like this. … if this is a party.” He blinks. “Is it?”

She peers at him, then laughs in delight. “Are you all right?” she asks, amused. “You didn’t forget to eat, did you?”

Had he? He’d been studying awhile when she’d come in with the bottle and the glasses, and he realizes he doesn’t know what time it is. The lamps they have are burning low, which is nice… if they were out, he thinks it would be dark. He _had_ forgotten. “I, uh, I…”

“Well, then, we better slow it down.” She grins and steeples her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’ll give you a few free ones… but, it’s your turn, so go ahead.”

“Me?” G’raha looks at her in surprise. “What about _you?_” When she just laughs, he looks at the bottle, flustered. “W-well, I’ve never played this game, so it’s no surprise I’m… wait, why did you drink?”

She laughs again, low and rich. “I’ve played,” she says, amused. “Many times.” Her ears flick, and his eyes immediately rise to them- _gods_ but she’s incredible, and the flush he feels is not entirely from the alcohol, he fears. “Let’s see… I’ve never kissed anyone in a library.”

G’raha grins triumphantly, tail swishing in the air behind him. No, he _hasn’t_ kissed anyone in a library, though not for lack of wanting to… although, to be fair, he _could_ have. Probably. “I’ve never kissed anyone in public.”

“Oh, you’re playing rough,” she says archly, and she takes the shot like a champion before pouring herself another- it doesn’t seem like she’s even bothered, and he is afraid he couldn’t walk a straight line if he had to. “I’ve never kissed my best friend.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a snicker and a cough. “Perish the thought,” he says, shaking his head and lifting his hands. “First of all she’d kill me if I tried, and secondly I’m not interested in her like that.” He wrinkles his nose as he thinks- trying to string questions together in his mind like this is a little difficult. “I’ve never kissed anyone who is the same gender as me.”

She just grins at him, and he feels heat creeping up his neck. He must be the color of his hair by now.

“I’ve never let someone stay overnight,” she says, lips curved in a way he finds _so_ appealing.

“I- I haven’t.” G’raha coughs, then looks down at his glass before looking back at her- her grin has softened to a smile, and he feels encouraged enough to continue. “I’ve never had someone where we could be caught.”

“Hmmm…” She taps the side of the bottle thoughtfully, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. Let’s see…” She studies him, tail swaying lazily. “I’ve never thought about kissing the person I’m looking at right now.”

_Oh._

He looks _anywhere_ else, but eventually reaches for his glass- but she beats him to it, moving the bottle out of the way so she’s knee to knee with him. She takes the glass and drains it, then cups his jaw with her hands and kisses him- most of it winds up trickling down their chins, but, well, he doesn’t care. She kisses him _thoroughly,_ and his head spins from far more than just the liquor- and then she’s lapping gently at the droplets of alcohol that remain on his skin, and he shudders head to toe. He manages to breathe her name, and she grins and presses her forehead to his.

“I lied,” she says, “so I had to drink, too.”

_Ohhhh._

Her hands are buried in his hair in short order as he kisses her again, pulling her closer- she scoots into his lap, crosses her legs _around_ him, and he feels himself tip out of orbit and spin off into the unknown. He runs his hands down her back and then back up, and what a time to realize that all she’s wearing is the cloth top. Probably for the best, he thinks dimly, he’d make an idiot of himself fumbling with clasps like this, and he pants softly into the kiss before drawing his hands to her sides. She takes them and puts them higher on her ribcage so his thumbs brush the sides of her breasts, then drops her head to suck hard at his neck, leaving a mark right over his Archon tattoo. He stares fuzzily into the tent before drawing a breath.

“Wait,” he says, and she quickly draws back and looks at him. “Are you sure- this, we, I, the… the alcohol…”

She laughs quietly. “Oh, I’m better off than you are,” she says- and then pauses. “… but what about you?”

He smiles dreamily. She _wants_ him. It is a feeling both intimidating and exciting, and he trembles a little. “Been wanting this for a while,” he mumbles as he kisses her again. “Mmh… a-_ah!_” He gasps as she strokes his ears, clutches her closer and feels her nipples pressed against his chest- he thinks he _might_ pass out, and what a shame _that_ would be. He is simultaneously overwhelmed and aroused, and when she leans back just a bit and takes his hands again, he smiles at her- and she gently presses them to her breasts.

“Then have it,” she says teasingly. “I’m not going to stop you- I’d _never._ I like you, G’raha Tia- I like you a lot.”

“Oh,” G’raha manages. “I- I like you too, but… you should call me Raha.” That sounds like an _excellent_ idea to his well-muddled brain, but truthfully, hearing her say it… well, he’s not ashamed to admit he’s wanted that for a while, too.

She lights up and kisses him again, then lets out a soft sound of pleasure as he brushes the pads of his thumbs against her nipples. “_Raha,_” she says, and he short-circuits. She leans back long enough to grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up over her head, tossing it to the wayside and smiling at him as she rests her hands on his knees. “Well?” she asks teasingly.

He _is_ going to pass out.

He takes a breath, keeping his eyes firmly on her face, but eventually he glances down- though he looks back up quickly, face red. He looks at her again, then bites his lip and cups her breasts, touches her directly and draws another soft sound from her. She is _stunning,_ a work of art to be sure- she’s _small,_ how she’s more sober than he is even having eaten dinner is far beyond him, and well-proportioned- _very_ well. Her arms and torso are lean and muscled thanks to her habit of flinging herself head-first into danger, and he imagines her legs are too… _ah…_

“Feels good,” she breathes, bringing him back to the present- and he kisses her neck, then her collarbone, to wring more of those beautiful sounds from her. She undoes his vest with expert finesse and shoves it from his shoulders, then shoves _him_ back onto his bedroll. The heat of her body against his is an absolute _wonder,_ and she kisses him senseless before teasingly sitting back and carefully raking her nails down his chest and stomach, stopping at the waistband of his breeches. He feels himself twitch beneath her gaze, and she drops her hand lower to palm him- he gasps and grips the blankets.

One by one the rest of their clothing is tossed by the wayside, until she’s in his lap and kissing him hard while one of his hands slides gently up her inner thigh. Thankfully he _does_ know what he’s doing, even drunk, and has been told he’s _good_ at it, so he relies on that experience now, drawing his fingertips carefully along impossibly soft skin before carefully parting her folds and touching her very lightly. The sounds she makes then is close to a keen, and she is _so_ wet- he bites his lip hard, he _wants_ her, but he wants her to have her pleasure first- and more than once, preferably. He slides his finger upward and carefully rubs her clit, wringing a cry from her, then draws it back to tease her entrance, never finding a certain rhythm- she likes the teasing, it seems, but eventually she reaches down and grabs his wrist, pulling him back to where she wants him. He watches in awe as she holds his hand firmly and moves her hips in a way he _hopes_ she will later, Twelve help him- he blushes and kisses her, and she lets go of his hand so he can continue- and continue he does, until she gasps and lets out a breathy cry of his name as she finds her peak. He slips a finger inside of her as she does, and she moans and rests her forehead against his as she rolls her hips just a little.

He makes very sure she’s finished before he rests his hand on her thigh and kisses her again, and smiles as her impossibly soft tail comes to wrap around his arm. “Is it all right?” he breathes.

She laughs breathlessly and nods. “More than,” she says. “Ah, it felt wonderful…” She trails off and grins. “Can you do it again?”

His lips part in shock, then he grins and gently pushes her down to the blankets. “I can,” he replies, his tail swishing back and forth above him as he leans over her. “I can do it more than once.”

“Show me,” she says breathlessly, and then she arches beneath him as he moves down her body, catching a nipple in his mouth and sucking carefully at it- first one, then the other, making her squirm a little and hold his head in place. She likes it and he is content to linger, using his thumb on the one his mouth isn’t presently occupied with, but eventually she lets go- and so he moves further down, grinning at her before settling between her thighs. The first brush of his tongue makes her gasp, then she grabs his hair again- gently, carefully, enough to show how much she’s enjoying this. “Oh, Twelve,” she manages. “O-oh… Raha, you- you’re so good at this, _ah!_”

The praise urges him further, and he continues with fervor, tonguing her clit and licking at her entrance, then gently closes his lips around her and sucks softly- _ah,_ the _sound_ she makes as she comes for him… he’ll never forget it, _never._

She’s still shaking when she tugs him up and lifts her knees to her chest, but he kisses her first, gentle and careful. He’s not going to do this without her telling him to, and he smiles against her mouth. “Do you want me to…?”

“Do I want you to fuck me?” she supplies, and he gasps a little before laughing helplessly and dropping his head to her shoulder. “Yes, I do, and _right now!_”

“How can I deny you?” he asks, still laughing a little. He’d _hardly_ expected such language to come from her, but hearing it surely sent a thrill through him- and he’s quick to obey her, carefully positioning himself before pressing his hips forward. His laughter is gone in a flash, and he gasps at how tight she is, how _wet_ she is- she impatiently lifts her hips and wraps one leg around the back of his thighs, pushing him further until he’s fully seated.

Her head drops back to the pillow and she moans softly, adjusting to the sensation- she smiles at him, then, and pulls him down for a kiss. “Raha,” she breathes. “Go on… it’s your turn- I want to feel you.”

_Oh!_

He smiles that same helpless smile from before, and she kisses the curve of his lips until it fades into something sure and warm- and then he does as she asks, slowly drawing back and pushing forward again until she groans and grips his shoulders. She feels _wonderful,_ _so_ incredible, and he wants to do more for her- he thinks about drawing back and moving so he can touch her, but she keeps him where he is as her tail comes to hook around his upper arm. His own lashes back and forth as he speeds up, and she arches and cries out softly- small, pleased sounds spill from her lips as he continues, chasing his own pleasure and wondering if maybe she might join him, but…

… well, it’ll be enough if she doesn’t laugh, he thinks- he’s embarrassed at how little time it takes, but his ears pin at their lowest point as he spills inside of her with a groan of her name, and she hugs him tight as he does.

It takes him a few seconds to gather himself afterwards, and he pulls out of her and drops down next to her on the tangled blankets. She presses close and kisses him, hums happily and noses at his cheek. “Mm… so- you liked the game, I take it?”

He blinks, then laughs breathlessly. “Yes,” he admits, “but is this how it _always_ ends?”

She pushes herself up and grins at him. “For you,” she says teasingly, her hair falling around his face- she kisses him again, and he draws her over top of him. “Again, hmm?”

“Again,” he agrees, grinning up at her. “Just a few moments- enough time for me to make sure you get yours as well.”

“Ahh, up for the challenge, then?” she purrs, and he feels himself melt a little. “Good- I like a man who doesn’t give up.” She grins and winks at him. “Even if he _is_ stone drunk.”

He laughs and shakes his head ruefully- he is, he has to admit, but, well… he doesn’t really mind.

At all.


	5. Veiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this features an ambiguous WoL, you're going to have to fill in some of the specifics yourself- however you think this worked, that's how it worked. :D I'm trying to get more practice with this, but there are some things I've not quite figured out how to word just yet.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

It is late in the night when he first comes to you. You had been soundly asleep as you always are after battle, perhaps less asleep and more just unconscious, and the gentle touch of his fingertips on your forehead draw you forth. You open your eyes, but the room is too dark to see him well- you see his silhouette, feel his weight gently settle on the mattress beside you. He touches you again, this time slowly drawing his fingertips along the curve of your cheek and over your lips, hesitating there when he feels the warmth of your breath. He says nothing, but he doesn’t need to- he can continue to believe you don’t know who he is, but you do. He couldn’t have made it more obvious, glancing over his shoulder at you as he walked toward the Tower when you’d returned from Holminster Switch… only this time, those doors had remained open, and he had come through them once more and to your side.

You close your eyes halfway, move your lips ever so slightly- a gentle kiss, a gentle word of encouragement. You hear his breath hitch, and you lift one of your hands to settle at his wrist, lightly run your index finger along the golden veins that mark the back of his hand. The pulse of his aether and his lifeblood are one and the same, and you smile against his fingertips. This blessed darkness, the night finally returned to Lakeland, seems to have greatly moved him- you wonder if he’d have had the courage to come to you with the Light in the sky, even though the curtains made the room dark enough. The windows are wide open now, letting in the soft breeze and the starlight, and you see the curve of his lips in the shadow of his hood as he smiles.

He is perhaps a little surprised when you reach up and draw him down, though he comes to you willingly, soft and eager in your arms as your lips meet his. He makes the softest sound into it, and he trembles as though you’ve touched him somewhere _far_ more intimate… but he has been as distant and aloof as the Tower this past century, and he is starved for want of a lover’s touch- _your_ touch. You grant it to him, trace his lips with the tip of your tongue and taste his mouth as he leans further over you, and when he draws back you can see the blush on his cheeks even with the cowl in the way- you make no move to push it back, nor does he, and you decide you will leave it alone. It will be his choice, whether or not he reveals himself to you… at least, insomuch as he can. There is so much of his story you do not yet know, but you feel the weight of the years pushing down on his shoulders, on his heart, and you lightly draw your hands down his arms to bring him to the present.

He grows bolder as he kisses you, bold enough to draw the blankets back- at least until he realizes that you sleep in the nude. He hesitates to go further, but you put your hands over his and push the blankets down to your waist. You have no concern for your modesty, and less than that when it comes to _him._ His hands are _so_ warm on your body, then, and he leans over you as he draws both crystal and spoken hands over your collarbone and down further. If he’s shy, if he’s hesitant, you can’t tell anymore- his touch is gentle and careful as he draws his index fingers over your nipples, and you blush just a bit and make a soft sound. He watches you, this you know without seeing his eyes, and he keeps going for just a moment before sliding further down your torso and lowering his mouth to where his hands had been. This wrings a gasp from you, and you swiftly place one hand on the back of his head and the other on his right arm, up beneath the voluminous sleeve of his robe. He makes a pleased hum as you do so, as you run your hand up to his shoulder- smooth crystal all, and you wonder how far it goes. His tongue distracts you, however, and you settle with enjoying his warmth as sparks fly in your vision.

You encourage him further, then, take his hand and rest it on your hip, and he sits back and tugs the blankets down and away. He looks at you for a long moment, color heavy across his cheeks, and he lets out a soft breath- _beautiful_\- before brushing his fingertips against you. Your breath escapes you in a huff as you spread your legs further, as he settles between them and sets about finding all the secrets your body has to offer. You are more than happy to share them with him, and you don’t hold back- you let him know when he finds places you like, and he leaves a mark at the juncture of hip and thigh that will last for a good long while. 

When he sets his hand against you, you nearly jerk your hips up off of the bed. He is calm and steady, watching you as you grip the pillow beneath your head, and he smiles as your pleasure grows. The press of a crystalline finger inside of your body makes you gasp, and like the first tug on a loose thread in a magnificent tapestry, you begin to unravel. You want him, and you wonder if he wants you just as badly- he’s not made any motion to undress himself, and nor, you think, does he plan to. He leans down and draws his tongue slowly along the path those fingers had taken before reaching to touch you from within, and you whine and grip the pillow tighter. There is certainly something about the image of the Crystal Exarch between your legs, and your own blush brightens when you look at him. Hooded he remains, though he is very careful with the ornaments on the fabric lest they jab your skin, but what he does with his mouth is _wicked _and you want to see his eyes. You wonder if he knows what he’s doing from experience or from books, but in the end you don’t really care- you can only gasp as he draws his hand away so he can tease your entrance with his tongue.

He is with you when everything tumbles down around you, and you cry out for him- you don’t call his name, desperately as you want to. It is perhaps easier for both of you this way, at least for now.

He draws back and looks down at you, lips slightly parted as he studies you flushed and panting, disheveled thanks to his touch. You lay still beneath his gaze, just breathing and struggling to return to your senses… but when you reach for him, he gently draws away. He leans down to kiss you once more, and you hear him whisper something- and then you sink back into the depths of slumber, sweet and warm.

-

He returns to the Tower, to the depths of it and his own rooms- none know of them; they are his alone. Here, he allows himself to be vulnerable- he pushes the cowl back and catches sight of himself in the mirror by the door to his bedroom. He is still blushing, still tastes you on his lips and tongue, and he grimaces just a touch… he is _sticky._ Thanks to the position he’d been in whilst seeing to your pleasure, he’d been able to reach his left hand beneath his robes- so overwhelmed was he that it hadn’t taken much to bring him the same sort of blinding release as he’d brought you.

… well… maybe. He wonders how much better it would have been if it were _your_ hand.

He allows himself one longing glance over his shoulder, and then he retreats into the washroom to clean up. He really should rest… but all he can think about is you, and he hopes you won’t be too angry with him when you realize who the man beneath the hood is.

It is _you_ who comes to _him_ next, moons later. He lays quiet and contemplative in his bed when he hears your footsteps, and he pushes himself up in surprise- _how_ did you get in?!- but then again, he is the Tower and the Tower is he- it knows his desires as well as he does, in a way. Of course it had allowed you passage. You sit next to him and smile softly, say his name as he lifts his right hand and once again lightly traces a path from your cheek to your lips… and you press the ghost of a kiss against crystalline fingertips, a brush of reverence against the sacrifice he’s made for you. He blushes, and you trail kisses down his fingertips, his palm, and thence to his inner wrist. So many times he had been sorely tempted to go to you again, but he’d not allowed himself- but here you are, here you _both_ are, and he watches with pupils blown wide as you draw back and remove your armor piece by piece.

You are _warm_ when you settle yourself into his bed, and all he can do is hold you as you sink into his arms. You say his name- _gods,_ how badly he’d wanted you to all along!- and you kiss him again and again, set your body against his and make him shiver. What you want is singularly obvious, being that which he had denied you before, and he is _all_ too pleased to grant it to you now- although, he thinks distantly, he _would_ have if he’d thought he could have performed well, back then. Overstimulated and overwrought, his body had reacted to you with the ferocity of a young man in his prime- he’d not been ready for that, not _expected_ that, and thus had decided that perhaps embarrassing himself further was a poor idea. Now, though, he is at least a _little _ more prepared, and when you reach beneath your hips and take him in hand, he exhales and tips his head back. He is surrounded by warmth, then, and his eyes widen as you lower yourself onto him- and squeeze shut when you are fully seated. You had _clearly_ come here with a singular mission in mind, and he appreciates it- and _you_\- greatly.

He opens his eyes slowly and looks up at you as you lean forward over him, as you kiss him hard before drawing back enough to give what you both want. He lifts his hands and cups your rear, almost holding you up as he moves his hips with yours- he desperately wants to be careful, to make _sure_ he lasts, but you don’t seem to think twice about it. He lets go with one hand and slips it around to your front, and you jerk a little and moan his name at the touch of crystal where you are most sensitive- he watches in awe as you chase your pleasure with his touch, with his _body. _It is when you lose control of yourself that he allows himself the same, to let go of his iron grip on his patience and to push you through your orgasm, his movements hard and sure- and then he cries your name as you breathe his, and it is all over for him.

You lean over him and kiss him as he calms, withdraw from him only to settle down comfortably where you’d been. Your smile is so beautiful that he almost forgets to breathe, and he lifts his hands and cups your face.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs- the first thing either of you has said to one another in this sort of setting.

“I’ll never leave,” you promise- and then you kiss him again, and the world outside the Tower vanishes entirely.


	6. Have You Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of a heat isn't really a kink I'm into, but as a writer, I am always pushing myself- and I love a good challenge. This is my take on it mainly to say that I did it, but also in the hopes that I did it well and broke some of the stereotypes that I tend to dislike.
> 
> Thanks to Stormcalled for having a line by line discussion on this topic with me- your input is greatly appreciated, and is largely why I didn't just toss this and give up!
> 
> And as always, thanks to my friends in the discord and those who take the time to read my work- y'all are why I do what I do. I hope you enjoy this!

It started when Yhen’a tore the Light from the sky for the last time, when he took it and released it in defiance of the Darkness and burned it out before _it _could take _him_.

G’raha looked at him with stars in his eyes to rival those above as they walked back to the Crystarium together, adrenaline running fast and hot in his veins. He hadn’t expected to be alive, he didn’t know _why_ he was alive, all he knew was that he _was_, that _they_ were- and the fierce joy of it all was enough to rock the very foundation of his being. Each breath was such a rush that he barely thought twice about anything else, and were it just the two of them and things as they were before, it would have been different… but now stood _the Warrior of Darkness_ and _the Crystal Exarch_ where Yhen’a and G’raha once did. He shifted his weight and faced forward so that he didn’t have to look at him anymore- the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the way his silver eyes shone, Azeyma _help_ him- he couldn’t _think._ With the battle won and his blood singing, urging him to claim his prize, all G’raha could think about was holding him tight- and _that_ couldn’t happen.

Luckily there was more than enough to keep him occupied, thus he slipped away into the crowd without having to worry for looking rude. The celebration that took place in the aftermath was a suitable distraction, though the heat in his blood lingered just beneath the surface like an itch he couldn’t quite reach, insistent and _irritating._ Without his hood, at least, he could flick his ears and swish his tail as pleased him, but he couldn’t hide the brightness in his eyes- nor the blood that suffused his cheeks when he so much as heard the Keeper’s name.

_Damn_ it all!

Thankfully, _blessedly,_ he was able to continue working his way through the crowd until he found himself on the outskirts- and from there, it was an easy thing to hurry up the steps to the Tower without notice. The revelry was likely to continue long into the night, and he wanted Yhen’a to enjoy it, not to worry about him- the man had literally spat in the face of death, and he deserved to enjoy his night as the Crystarium’s darling. G’raha could hear his laughter as he disappeared up the steps, and it was like silk against his fur- his ears twitched almost uncontrollably as he rushed inside and vanished into the portal. He felt like he could crawl out of his own _skin,_ so restless was he- he paced the floor of the Ocular back and forth, back and forth- he would climb the very _walls_ if he could do so. The adrenaline had faded not at all; indeed, his heart was beating as rapidly as though he’d sprinted up the stairs and up the entire way to the Ocular without using the portals, and it echoed in his ears and in the hum of the aether itself. Maybe getting out would be a good idea, he thought, now that the sin eaters were gone- though keen as his senses were, he suspected there was _not much_ that could get the drop on him at present.

He raked his hand through his hair, tugging it partly free from its braid and making an exasperated sound as he did so. He’d not thought this would happen to him, he’d _never_ thought this would happen to him- and the Tower seemed to do _nothing_ about it! He knew the ways of his people well even so very many years later, and no matter how he tried, no matter what power he reached for, the insistent longing that had made itself at home in his chest seemed content to stay put. He wanted to _be_ with him, to_ see_ him, to hear his voice, to-! The litany went on, as did he with his pacing, desperately yearning to go to him and knowing that no matter how much he wanted to, he _couldn’t-_ not like this.

A knock at the door a little while later nearly sent him through the ceiling, and he whipped around as though a hoard of sin eaters might be waiting on the other side. “Yes?” he called- glad, at least, that his voice was obeying him, seeing as how nothing _else_ seemed so inclined.

“Raha?”

He froze. It was _him._

For a wild moment he considered _actually_ climbing the walls if it would get him away fast enough, but of course, it wouldn’t… but his agitated mind presented it as though it would be a viable option, and ruby eyes looked around wildly to see if he could find purchase before common sense caught up and reigned him in. He could run, of course, could slip into the Umbilicus and from there into Syrcus Tower proper- though it did precious little to save him from _this_ particular nonsense, it _did_ bow to his will otherwise… and he could very easily escape.

… but he couldn’t, not after everything that had happened, even if his _traitorous_ body and fevered mind had taken the joy of being alive and flung themselves from the height of _reason._

“Ah… come in,” G’raha called cautiously. If he _had_ to, he could get away… and, well, he could explain later. He didn’t know how much Yhen’a knew about Seekers, and Azeyma help him, he _truly_ didn’t want to find out the hard way.

The door slowly opened and Yhen’a peeked in, then he lit in a smile and walked in. “So this is where you disappeared to,” he said, amused- but he looked a little worried, silver eyes studying him closely. “… are you all right?”

G’raha smiled- it came easily enough. “I am well, thank you,” he said. Yhen’a smiled again, and that was _all_ it took for his mind to start chasing its own tail.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I know you must be exhausted, but… I wanted to see you, assuming you were still awake.” Yhen’a clasped his hands as his smile faded, and he bowed his head- how _unlike_ him, and G’raha wanted to rush to his side and set his fingers beneath his chin, to lift those beautiful silver eyes to his own. “Raha,” he began, then paused and bit his lip. “Menphina- I’m so glad…!” He stopped and bit his lip hard, then looked up at him, brow knit and expression uncertain. “I’ve missed you, I’ve _missed_ you, you have _no_ idea-!”

He did, he _did, _and he _wished_ Yhen’a knew that. “I’ve missed you, too,” G’raha said faintly- _honestly._ It was almost painful. “You- ah!” Yhen’a crossed the room quickly, practically _ran_ to him, and put his hands on his shoulders. His touch seared through the fabric and into crystal and skin alike, and the breath was driven from his lungs as though the Keeper had struck him with all his might. G’raha’s eyes widened and dilated, and Yhen’a started to say something, then paused and tilted his head, ears perking forward.

“Raha… are you-?”

Forget climbing the walls. He would have preferred to just sink through the floor.

“Yes, well,” G’raha said weakly, “these things have no regard for timing, so pray… pray give me a day or two, and I will seek you out.”

Yhen’a looked at him in surprise, then raised an eyebrow. “You want to be alone?” he asked, his tone full of doubt. He always _could_ read him like an open book.

“W-well, no,” G’raha stammered, much as he’d tried to force the word _yes_ from his lips. “But, I- I don’t wish to impose upon you, and also, I am perfectly capable of simply ignoring it.” He let out a shaky breath and smiled just a little. “You needn’t worry.”

“_Raha._” Yhen’a said his name with a touch of exasperation, and wasn’t _that_ a familiar tone- but his lips curved, and his eyes shone softly… Azeyma preserve, had he _any_ idea how beautiful he was? He stepped closer, and it was almost automatic- G’raha’s tail curled gently around his leg. He jerked it back quickly, and Yhen’a shook his head and spoke softly… ah, he wanted to stroke his hair, to feel him in his arms-! “It’s been so long- you _really_ think there’s _anywhere_ I’d rather be?”

He tried to smile, he really did, but he wasn’t sure if he managed. From the look on Yhen’a’s face, he didn’t think so. “I don’t wish you to stay because you feel you must,” he breathed, ruby eyes searching silver. “If you… Azeyma help me- if you should wish to pick up where we left off, beyond all reason and sanity…” He trailed off, and the breath he took next urged his hands to Yhen’a’s waist. “I want nothing more, this I swear, but I must- I _must_ know that you…”

Yhen’a smiled and nodded slightly. “I came to ask you that very thing,” he said. “I suppose there’s more I could say, but it can wait until-”

“No,” G’raha interrupted gently, shaking his head. “It can’t. I would have you speak your mind ere we do _anything_ else.” His senses were reeling, but at least he wasn’t desperately wishing to sink into the floor anymore- in fact, the relief he felt added to the joy that surged through him with each rapid heartbeat. “I am no Nunh to claim my prize for winning- and this victory doesn’t even belong to me.”

“It does,” Yhen’a protested. “It belongs to you as much as it does me! You’re the one who Called the others to my side- I couldn’t have won alone. You started all of this, you _brought_ me here, you saved my _life!_” He shook his head, beautiful eyes wide and earnest. “You _saved_ me, Raha!”

His eyes widened as well, then filled with tears. Almost unconsciously, his tail resumed its spot wrapped around Yhen’a’s leg, and his hands slipped to the small of his back as Yhen’a’s trailed to his shoulder blades. “My dearest love, I risked your life on a gamble that I _lost,_ and you-!”

Yhen’a shook his head. “You risked _your_ life, and you _won,_” he said firmly- and those words opened the floodgates. G’raha sank into his arms and he held him close, and he turned his head to press his face against soft, starlight-colored hair. “You gambled and you won. _We_ won.”

How incredible he was, G’raha thought distantly- all he wanted was to be close to him, to feel his touch and to breathe him in. He dared to tuck himself a little closer, and ah, how his heart _sang!_ “It was mad,” he said weakly, “_I_ am mad- to think that such a thing might have worked…”

Yhen’a held him tighter. “I always knew you were a little off,” he mused- and G’raha laughed helplessly. “Will you let me stay, Raha…?”

Azeyma _preserve,_ the sound of his name on Yhen’a’s lips was enough to scatter his wits to the far reaches of Norvrandt. G’raha took a shaky breath and drew back a bit, looking into his eyes once more- they were of a height even still, though Yhen’a’s boots gave him an advantage. “There was aught you wished to say,” he said softly. “I would hear it ere we make any sort of decisions that will potentially change the course of our friendship.”

Yhen’a’s eyes widened a little, then he closed them and let his breath out in a soft huff. “You call me your dearest love, and then worry about our friendship?” he muttered. “G’raha Tia, your priorities aren’t quite in order.”

G’raha’s heart fluttered, and he dared to allow himself to reach up with one hand and slowly draw it through Yhen’a’s hair- and then set it against one of his ears. Yhen’a sighed in pleasure and nuzzled his cheek in return, and G’raha’s lips parted a little as his breath came faster. “You know what I mean,” he said faintly.

“Very well, then I’ll speak plainly.” Yhen’a looked at him and smiled a little. “I hated the Tower for taking you from me. I hated the sight of Mor Dhona, I hated going _anywhere_ we spoke of. I… I hated the _future,_ because it would have you and _I wouldn’t._” His smile became a touch wry even as G’raha’s eyes filled with tears. “Reasonable, aren’t I? In any case, Raha, I never, _never_ got over you. I never forgot the sound of the doors closing, never forgot the way you loved me the night before. I kept your journals, I taught myself to _read_ because of them, so as Menphina is my witness- _I want to stay with you._ I’ve been away from you _long enough. _I love you, you silly Seeker- and, well, you may think you have no prize for your victory, but I disagree.” He grinned cheekily. “I think I’m _quite_ the prize.”

“_Yhen’a!_” G’raha burst out laughing- he couldn’t _help_ it- and leaned against him as his shoulders shook. The warm longing in his chest expanded, flowed through him like the sunrise touching a darkened landscape, and he pressed closer as his laughter faded. “You are,” he said helplessly. “You _are._”

Yhen’a touched their noses together and smiled, eyes half closed. Dark as his skin was, G’raha could still see the blush that stained his cheeks- he was _so_ lovely…. “Well then,” he said softly, derailing his train of thought, “perhaps you’d like to claim me.”

G’raha groaned faintly and kissed him with no further worry for whether or not he really wanted to be here- he did, he _did,_ and it was obvious in _everything._ Yhen’a parted his lips when G’raha traced them with the tip of his tongue, and then he gently licked at Yhen’a’s and felt the fur on his tail fluff as far as it could go. It felt like an electric charge, like a suffusion of aether, like the whole of the Tower’s might in one single, incandescent note- the kiss deepened immediately, and all he could do was hold on tight as the feeling grew and grew. “Oh, Yhen’a,” he mumbled against his lips, as the Keeper growled softly and chased after him for another searing kiss. “My guiding star…”

“Tell me what you want,” Yhen’a breathed, running his hands slowly down his back. G’raha was _so_ thankful that he’d been healed- he didn’t have the strength to do so himself, and gods, all he wanted was _this_ and _without distraction._ “I will give you anything.”

“You,” G’raha managed, “I want _you,_ I want the years that were stolen from us, I want… I _want-!_”

Yhen’a let out a sharp breath and nodded, his hands flexing gently on his back. “Oh, good,” he murmured, “I want the very same.” He kissed him again, then paused and drew back, looking around the room. “Ah, you _do_ have a bed, I hope… because I’ll admit, I’m in no shape to walk to the Pendants right now.”

How those words sent _fire_ through his veins.

“I do,” G’raha managed. He drew back even as his body clamored for Yhen’a’s, and he took his hand and led him to the Umbilicus, and thence to the portal that led to his private chambers. “I’ll tell you more later,” he said with a soft sigh, returning to his arms and kissing him again- and reluctantly drawing back to take him the few remaining yalms to the bedroom. How _wonderful,_ he thought dazedly- being in his room after thinking he’d never see it again, and most importantly, being in his room with _Yhen’a_.

Yhen’a kissed him again, then sighed impatiently and ran his hands along his waist. “How does this come off?” he mumbled. “Torn up as it is, I’m tempted to remove it with my _teeth_ if it means I’ll get to you faster!”

G’raha let out a barely audible keen as he felt himself twitch in the trousers he wore beneath his robes. “I’m tempted to let you,” he managed, but luckily it was simple enough- he unclasped the gold belt and let it fall to the floor, then pulled the ruined garment up and off. The heat in his blood demanded the Keeper’s body against his own _immediately,_ and he couldn’t manage to get his armor off of him fast enough, even with Yhen’a helping him. He had not a single whit of concern for his modesty; as with his clothing, he tossed it somewhere into the corner of the room to be forgotten entirely. Yhen’a was _stunning_, dark as night with freckles like stars all over his body- _all_ over, G’raha noted, his gaze hungrily following the trail of silver hair that began beneath his navel. Seeing him like this made his mouth water, and all he could think of was how many ways he could possibly have him- he shoved him down onto the bed, and Yhen’a laughed breathlessly as he pulled him along with him.

Pulling him closer yet, Yhen’a kissed him fiercely, the lines of their bodies matching perfectly. With no barriers between them, G’raha could only think about the softness of his skin, the play of muscle beneath… his warmth, his _strength._ Thinking of Yhen’a standing defiantly against his foes sent a shockwave through him, and he sat back and braced his hips before taking him _all_ the way in, swallowing around him until his nose touched the soft hair at his base. Yhen’a made a sound that was half a strangled moan and half a shout, and G’raha’s instincts pushed him for more, more, _more,_ and he indulged them- he drew back and lapped at his tip to taste him, took him in all the way to hear that wonderful cry once more. “_Twelve,_ Raha-!” Yhen’a gasped and gripped the blankets, then pushed himself up to take the tie from his already half-undone braid, to loose his hair and watch it fall in soft waves. He gently tangled one hand in it, drew his fingers through it and tugged on it gently- _that_ made him moan, and Yhen’a sucked in a breath and shivered.

Another moment went by, G’raha really had no idea, foggy as he felt- Yhen’a gently pushed him back and down onto the mattress, leaned over him and kissed him fiercely. G’raha returned it with all the passion he had within him, the _longing-_ it expanded further with each breath, all-encompassing and _so_ warm… he needed him, he _needed_ him. He growled just a little into the kiss, then louder as he quickly- and neatly- flipped Yhen’a off of him and onto his back, and he was atop him in a flash. Yhen’a grinned up at him and lifted his chin, then deliberately set his hands palm-up on the pillow beside his head, baring his throat and inner wrists both. G’raha’s blood surged in his ears at the sight of him submitting as he was, and he immediately set his lips to his neck, tasting his pulse and shaking all over. Time had dulled his memories of Yhen’a, of _having _him- though it had been once, just once, and far too late. He would have to relearn him, but he was content to do so- and it seemed Yhen’a was content to allow him, further tipping his head to give him better reach. He smelled wonderful, too, like cedar and woodsmoke and the fog of the early morning… it was enough to make his senses utterly drunk.

Yhen’a lay still and docile, begged him for more and stoked the flames within him to a raging inferno. G’raha bit the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and his ears twitched at the Keeper’s sharp gasp and the low whine immediately following. He soothed the bite with his tongue, but Yhen’a shifted restlessly beneath him- and a slow grin curved his lips. He trailed kisses up to just beneath and behind his jaw, lapped at the skin before sucking _hard_, and Yhen’a cried out and swiftly tangled both hands in his hair to hold him where he was. “_Yes,_” he hissed, and G’raha felt momentarily light-headed at the rush that followed. “More, Raha- _more!_”

At least, G’raha thought absently, his skin was as dark as it was- because he had a suspicion, even muddled as he was, that Yhen’a wouldn’t let him heal that particular mark.

Each taste of his skin made the ache grow all the fiercer, but G’raha indulged him shamelessly, tracing each scar and tasting each freckle, leaving love marks peppered along his chest as he went. A jar of healing salve that he’d been too busy to put away lingered on the bedside table next to a pile of books, and he knocked them askew as he groped for it- Yhen’a only encouraged him on, at least for a moment… at least until he was sufficiently distracted.

_Ah, _but he was _fierce!_

Yhen’a grinned down at him as wide ruby eyes looked up at him in surprise, laying on his back as the Keeper had been before. “Be good for me, Raha,” he purred, and G’raha let out an embarrassingly loud whine as he set to work. Warm lips traced the seam of crystal and skin, searing hot kisses made his heart pound- Yhen’a was thorough, _dedicated_. He marked him just as G’raha had done to him, made him shake and cry out, and by then he genuinely didn’t care how the rest went, he just _wanted him._ There was time for everything he wanted to do, and that thought made him so giddy that he impatiently pushed him lower- and Yhen’a laughed low and rich as he allowed him to do so. “Tell me what you want,” he said again, looking at him from beneath long lashes as he shifted to kneel between his legs.

“You, _you!_” G’raha managed, hands scrabbling at his shoulders. There was little else he _could_ say at that point, he didn’t think he could put his thoughts in order if he had to.

Yhen’a’s grin widened, his tail flicking back and forth. “Me…?” he asked, slowly licking his lips. 

Azeyma _help_ him, the man was _infuriating_\- and there was no way he’d ever get enough of him, he _knew_ it. G’raha, all sense of shame and reason far behind him, growled and pushed himself up, grabbed Yhen’a’s arms and pulled him into a hard kiss- their teeth clicked together, so impatient and eager was he. Yhen’a gave as good as he got, and as G’raha tugged him forward he fell off-balance, but he wasn’t willing to give in _quite_ yet. G’raha gasped against his mouth as they wrestled with one another, playful and daring, but for him it felt different- and he growled again, louder this time, as he struggled to pin him. Yhen’a was strong and solid, toughened by years of literally fighting for his life as well as many more at archery, but G’raha was much the same- this was a _real_ challenge, and his blood sang hotter and louder. Determined to have the upper hand, G’raha managed to reach the jar and knock the lid off, and he shoved his fingers inside with little care for keeping it upright. It wouldn’t spill, he hoped, and if it did, well, he had other options. He managed to wrangle Yhen’a into a position that had him more or less atop him, pinning one of his legs and keeping the other spread wide with his knee, and the first touch at his entrance made him gasp and shudder all over.

How _quickly_ he became malleable then, rolling his hips and gripping the rumpled bedding- half of it was on the floor by then, but it didn’t matter. G’raha leaned over him possessively, pressed a finger into his body and relished the heat of him and the _sound_ he made. Shaking and eager, he wanted to just _have_ him, but even with the rush of victory demanding he do so, he kept himself in check- he_ had_ to be careful. Ruby eyes watched intently, took in everything about him, from the look on his face to the tension in his thighs as they trembled finely. G’raha tightened his grip on his leg and shifted, lifting it over his shoulder and leaning forward as he pressed another finger inside- Yhen’a sucked in a breath and let it out on a breathy cry that made him twitch insistently. He was sweat-damp and marked all over, breathing hard and gripping his hair with one hand and the blankets with the other- G’raha wanted to _ravage_ him. A third finger followed fairly easily, the blush on Yhen’a’s cheeks and nose heavy and dark as the Keeper writhed beneath him, ah, _Twelve-_!

Thankfully, it seemed enough- he could wait no more, not a single second.

He slicked himself and shuddered, then leaned harder over Yhen’a and positioned his tip against his entrance. Yhen’a dug his fingers into his left shoulder and his back beneath the crystal on the right side, then arched his back. “Please, Raha, _please,_ I _want_ you!”

_Ah-!_

G’raha still had enough of his wits about him to be careful, but once he was fully seated and Yhen’a loosened the tight grip he’d caught his hips in, once he’d lifted his free leg up and draped it around him, he began to move. He was merciless in his drive to have him, to _claim_ him, and Yhen’a tossed his head back and cried out over and over, ears down at their lowest point as he shook. Just hearing him sent a flood of heat throughout, having him, _needing_ him- G’raha shifted a little, each thrust jarring him and sending more of those beautiful sounds spilling from his lips- broken pleas, the sound of his name, it all drove him utterly and entirely _mad._ It was very good that this had happened here rather than in the Pendants; he’d not have wanted to explain all the yelling- he was enjoying it far too much to want it to stop.

Yhen’a suddenly gasped and clung to him, and G’raha had a split second to draw back- too close to the edge of the bed, too reckless, too _much,_ and they tumbled to the floor as the heavy blanket beneath them slid off and took them with it. He’d not _actually_ expected that would happen, but, well…

He was on top of Yhen’a again in a flash, holding his wrists above his head with his right hand and bracing himself with his left. The Keeper let out a loud keen as he pushed into him again, and it was only a moment more before he came undone, digging his nails into G’raha’s skin and spilling between them with a ragged shout. The sensation of it, the look on his face, the way his hands spread and then clenched into tight fists- G’raha lost control. He pulled back and gripped Yhen’a’s hips, then flipped him over. Yhen’a, still shaking, tucked his knees beneath his body and buried his face in the blankets, and G’raha took him again- this time, chasing his own pleasure. He reached beneath him and dragged his right hand through the fluid on Yhen’a’s stomach, and Yhen’a whimpered- whether it was that sound, the sight of him, or his own desperate need, G’raha didn’t know- he leaned down and bit him hard on the nape of his neck, his torso flush against Yhen’a’s back as he came _hard._

The warmth that came in the aftermath was a welcome change from the burning need he’d felt before, and G’raha drew back carefully and pulled Yhen’a up to lean back against him, kissed his neck soothingly and held him close. Yhen’a let his head fall back against his shoulder and let out a shaky breath, content to allow G’raha to dote on him- the intimacy in the moment was _powerful,_ and G’raha cherished every second of it. “My darling Yhen’a,” he murmured, one hand resting over his heart as he smiled against his skin. “Thank you…”

Yhen’a let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I feel like I should be thanking _you,_” he replied, amused. He turned his head a bit and peered at him with sparkling eyes. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

G’raha blushed and cleared his throat. “Well, nor did I, so we are a matched pair in many ways.” He paused, then gently drew back and lay Yhen’a down on the blankets and the plush rug beneath, smiled at him as he rested one arm above his head and the other by his side, his hand on his stomach. The tip of his tail swished a soft, contented rhythm- he looked pleased as could be, despite looking utterly _debauched,_ and the blush on G’raha’s cheeks darkened. “Gods be good,” he mumbled.

Yhen’a grinned and stretched a little, then playfully flicked his tail against G’raha’s side. “Indeed,” he said, and his grin widened when G’raha buried his face in his hands.

The longing he’d felt the whole time remained firmly seated, and G’raha indulged it by leaning over him and kissing him carefully, settling against him as his arms came to gently drape around him. They curled up together in the unruly sprawl of blankets and pillows, and G’raha trailed his fingers over Yhen’a’s shoulders, down his arms, over his stomach- healing aether sparkled in their wake, soothing marks left by teeth and nails, as well as a bruise on his wrist that made him wince a little. “I feel I should apologize,” he began, but Yhen’a lifted a hand and lightly rested his forefinger against soft lips.

“Don’t. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t want what you offered me.” Yhen’a smiled, a soft, dreamy look in his eyes, and then he gently took G’raha’s hand and settled at his own collarbone. “I didn’t just submit quietly, either… but- I can’t heal you…”

“Ah…” G’raha blushed and ducked his head, then smiled helplessly. “You don’t have to, and please trust me- I wanted _all_ of it.” He hesitated, then kissed him lightly. “I- I missed you, Yhen’a… I’ve thought of little more these long years, even as I wept when I realized I’d forgotten the sound of your voice. Hearing it again breathed life into me, and, well… I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that this happened.”

Yhen’a’s smile warmed, lips parting a little, and he reached up to brush faded red hair back from G’raha’s face. “I missed you, too,” he breathed. “It _hurt._ … but- it’s over now. I have you back… and Menphina help me, but I’m _never_ letting you go. _Never._” He drew him down for a soft kiss, one that sent sluggish warmth through his body to pool low in his belly, and G’raha sighed against his lips and pressed closer. Yhen’a held him tight, then drew back and grinned, ears flicking. “… again?”

G’raha blushed scarlet. “W-well… yes?” he asked hopefully, ears perked and tail swaying eagerly.

Yhen’a’s smile turned to a grin, and he pushed himself up and kissed him again before catching his lower lip in his teeth, making his breath hitch. “This time,” he purred, “you’ll lay there and behave… or I’ll tie you to the bed.”

G’raha blushed fiercely at his body’s eager reaction to Yhen’a’s promise. “I suppose you’ll have to find something to tie me with,” he mused- and the Keeper’s grin widened.

It was going to be a_ spectacular_ reunion.


	7. The Wedding Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt in the Discord, wherein Raha and the WoL/D are trapped somewhere via a cave-in, Tower malfunction, etc, and take advantage of their time alone.
> 
> I hope you like it!

“It should be over here somewhere...” The sound of rummaging meets your ears, and you grin as you lean against the wall by the door, arms crossed. You don’t think you’d ever really thought the Crystal Tower would have a storage room, but it seems that it does- and not just one, but _several._ You are watching G’raha Tia, the Crystal Exarch, knocking about the various and sundry items that have been stowed away for Twelve knows how long, searching for something he wants you to see- you aren’t even really sure what it is, only that he’d been extremely excited about it.

Now, however, you have to hide a grin as he straightens and huffs, looks around the room- and _pouts._ “No?” you ask innocently.

He looks at you and shakes his head, ears drooping. “I thought I left it here,” he says, “but… maybe it was in another room.” He smiles sheepishly and lifts a hand to rub the back of his head. “I, ah, I fear it’s been… quite some time since I last saw it, and though I put it aside for you… well…”

You chuckle quietly and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it,” you say, your voice warm. “I’m just glad you thought of me. Thank you, Raha.”

As ever when you call him by his name, his ears shoot up in surprise and color suffuses his cheeks. “Oh! Y-you’re welcome,” he stammers, “but I hardly believe you should thank me until I _find_ it. I’d not have brought you here if I’d known I’d managed to misplace it.” He wrings his hands a bit, then sighs and returns to rummaging about. “It _must_ be here. Bear with me a moment longer…”

Your smile is soft as you watch him. You would bear with him for much more time, you think- _much _more. You’ve barely gotten to have him to yourself, and back then, well… you’d been more than half in love with him, you think, and you suspect he feels the same. The only problem is, you aren’t really sure how to go about telling him, and so you just sigh softly and shrug to yourself. There’s plenty of time to figure it out now, and the two of you have already begun getting to know one another again- he is so wide-eyed and eager that you can’t help but want to be near him. He’s always smiling, always sincere, and just… genuinely _happy._ You remember that from back then, and it charms you just as much now.

After a few seconds you realize that all of him you can see is his tail peeking up over the pile of crates and other things you don’t really recognize, and you muffle a laugh- he quickly stands and looks over them at you, ears flicking. “What is it?” he asks.

“You,” you reply, amused. “You don’t have to go to all this work, you know! There’s plenty of time to find it.”

“Ah… I know.” He smiles sheepishly and ducks his head. “It was important to me… well- it _is_ important to me. If you’re weary of being here, however, I can search another time.”

“Oh! No,” you say quickly, not wanting to trample on his enthusiasm. “I don’t mind, but- won’t you let me help you?” Thus far he’s not given you a single hint as to what this item might be, and you push away from the wall and tilt your head.

He blanches and lifts his hands, shaking his head quickly. “No, I couldn’t possibly-! That is, I…” He sighs and smiles, composing himself, and looks at you with a bit more composure. “No,” he says gently, “but thank you for the offer. I wish it to be a surprise, I just…” He trails off and looks around, ears swiveling a little before they perk straight up. “Ah! I think I remember-!” He smiles at you and beckons you, and as ever- without question- you follow him. He leads you deeper into the storage room and off into another, this one much smaller, though no less packed. “I think I set it aside and put it here,” he muses, crossing the small room and peeking at the shelves.

You look around, amused. “I think someone had a hoarding problem,” you say, reaching out and running your fingers over what looks to be a suit of armor. It’s in good condition- excellent, really, probably hasn’t seen the battlefield- much less the outside of this _room._

He laughs, and the sound is music to your ears. “Yes, it seems that way,” he replies, clearly amused as his tail swishes back and forth. His ears and tail are what you can only describe as _chatty,_ and you are glad he doesn’t have to keep them hidden anymore… you think they’re cute.

You think _he’s _cute.

As he peers at the shelves, you study the boxes next to you. It looks like bedding- pillows, blankets, furs… nothing extremely interesting. The next set of boxes proves a bit more so, and you can see something glinting just out of reach by the wall. You blink and peer between the crates, then reach inside and turn sideways, leaning so you can stretch your fingers towards it. It’s _just_ out of reach, but you’re _almost_ there…

_Sssshhhh._

Your fingers brush against it, and the door to the room slides closed. You blink and draw back, looking at it in surprise, then look into the space again. It must have been a control panel of some sort, and you give G’raha a sheepish glance over your shoulder- but he is occupied and hasn’t noticed. You sigh and try to push the crates out of the way- they’re _heavy!-_ and manage to slide one at least a little, at least enough to slip between them a bit more and get a better look at the sparkling object on the wall. You poke at it again, and nothing happens. If there are buttons of any sort you can’t see them- it’s smooth as glass, and running your fingers along it doesn’t do anything.

G’raha says your name curiously, then makes a surprised sound. “Did you close the door?” he asks, hurrying over and looking into the space you created.

“Maybe,” you say sheepishly. “I’m sorry- I saw something shining and wondered what it was. You’d think I’d know better.”

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, clearly amused- he is enjoying his time with you, and it shows. “Let me have a look, and I’ll teach you how to use it.” You move out of the way and he takes your place, fiddling with whatever it is for a second before leaning back and peering at the door. “Hm… that’s odd,” he says slowly.

“What is?” you ask, looking at the door and then at him.

He leans back to examine the panel again. “Ah… … hm.” His tail swishes for a second, then fluffs out in alarm- and you instinctively reach for your weapon, as though something is going to crawl out of the wall and attack you both. “Well, ah...” He bites his lip and gives you a guilty look. “It’s locked.”

Oh.

_Oh._

You look at the door and reach out to see if you can’t push it open, but it may as well be part of the wall. “Sorry, Raha,” you say, cringing a little. “Did I break it?”

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “No,” he says, “or rather… if you did, I know you didn’t mean to.” He closes his eyes and goes silent for a couple of moments, then mutters a curse and looks at the door again. “Ah, this is my fault. These rooms are off-limits to those outside the royal family, and so when you touched the control panel, it sealed the room. I’ve overridden the command, but it won’t re-open again for a few bells.” He looks at you and shakes his head. “Forgive me, I should have been more cognizant of where we are- I’d have warned you, were I thinking clearly.”

You smile and shrug. “No harm done,” you say cheerfully, then pause. “… no thanks to me, anyway. I’m sorry, really.” You look at the door, then back at him as he studies it as well. This, you think _really_ isn’t a bad thing… especially seeing as how you’ve wanted more time with him, and with both of you as busy as you are.

“Don’t be.” He smiles at you, and your heart flutters a little. “If I’m entirely honest, well… the idea of spending time with you where neither of us can be bothered by our duty isn’t something I would soon turn my nose up at.”

Those words make you feel warm, and you blush a bit. “No?” you ask. “Well, that’s good, because I was thinking the same. There’s… not enough time in the day for either of us.”

“No, there isn’t.” He hesitates, then slowly walks toward you, ruby eyes locked on yours. “There’s much and more I’ve wanted to say to you- things that cannot be said quickly, and nor should they be.”

Your heartbeat speeds up, and you are very sure he can see your blush now- your face feels like it’s on fire. “Do you?” you ask.

“I do.” He smiles a small, secret smile. “Firstly, however, I found the item that I was searching for… come. It’s this way.” He gestures to another part of the room- had he looked over there already? Maybe he had, while you fiddled with the control panel. You follow him, and he takes you around a few more crates to a small nook with a table, and thereon it is a miniature carousel, intricately carved and _beautiful._ There are what look to be real gemstones used throughout, and you gasp faintly and crouch down to peer at it.

“Oh, this is amazing,” you breathe, forgetting all about the locked door. You touch it hesitantly, and when you do it begins to spin- and it plays a melody you recognize, one that nearly knocks the wind out of you. You stare at the carousel but you are looking into the past, and you hear not the music box’s delicate chime, but G’raha’s warm, beautiful voice.

_It’s cold out, but that hasn’t stopped the two of you from sitting on the walkway that leads to the Tower, side by side as you look up at the stars. He is smiling as he sings for you, and you are smiling because he’s happy- and because you love his voice, the way he comes alive when he allows his passion to show. He sings a song from the time when Allag reigned, and you don’t understand the meaning behind it, but the melody is hauntingly beautiful. When the song ends, he looks at you and smiles, and his ears wiggle happily._

_“I love this song,” he admits. “It’s one of my very favorites.”_

_“It’s beautiful,” you say. You love it because he does- because seeing him truly smile means the world to you._

_He blinks, then blushes and quickly looks up at the sky. “It’s a love song,” he finally says. “It used to be sung at weddings- for good luck, supposedly. I… well, I like things like that.” He looks a little flustered, ears down and tail lashing as though he expects you to laugh at him._

_Instead, you smile. “I do too,” you say. His ears shoot straight up and his tail fluffs, then he stammers a little and looks away… but he laughs- and when he does, so do you._

G’raha crouches down next to you and looks at the carousel with a soft smile. “It must have been a gift given to a member of the royal family when they wed,” he said. “I found it some time ago, and… though time has taken much from me- I remember _this_ much clearly. You enjoyed it when I sang this song to you.”

“I did,” you say softly, watching it for a second more before looking at him and smiling. “… it really is good to see you again, Raha. I missed you.”

“And I, you.” He smiles and looks at the carousel again, then hums softly before he starts to sing along- and you listen, utterly entranced. His voice is every bit as beautiful as it was before, though he is shy in a way he wasn’t back then… he sings for just a few lines, then looks at you and smiles sheepishly, coloring just a little. “… ah, but- I thought of you when I found it. I…” He clears his throat and looks down. “I was… going to leave it in the Ocular for you to find, but couldn’t bring myself to do so. It seemed too cruel. I am glad I had the chance, though, because I… I have spent these last hundred years thinking of you- and wishing I’d had the courage to tell you then what has burned in my heart ever since.” He looks at you, and your breath stills. “My feelings for you go far beyond friendship, and have since we sat beneath the stars so very long ago. All this time… all this time, I have thought of little else.”

You feel like the crystal floor beneath you has turned to clouds, and you turn toward him and brush a kiss against the crystal that traces up his cheek- his breath catches and he blushes fiercely, but he turns toward you and catches your chin with his thumb and forefinger. You look at one another for a second, and then he kisses you- he is full of fire, of _want,_ and after a century’s worth of waiting… you don’t want to make him wait any longer. The kiss deepens and you melt into it, and he pulls you close against his body- you think you might faint. It’s good that he’s holding you, and… it would be _even better_ if he never let go. Your lips curve against his, and he delicately traces them with his tongue- you part them, and he tastes you in a way _nobody_ ever has. When your breath starts to come faster, he draws back and smiles warmly at you. “Ah… Raha…” Your voice is soft, and you want him to kiss you again- and he does, though not quite as you wanted him to.

“Do not feel obligated to… ah…” He blushes and shakes his head. “That isn’t what this is about, though I will not lie to you and say I am not interested. I, ah…”

“Oh.” You laugh quietly and rest your forehead against his. “I am,” you say, giving him a crooked smile. “… but you’ll have to teach me.”

He blinks- he looks _startled._ “W-well,” he stammers, “in that case, I shan’t even consider- there’s not- … you deserve better than the floor of a dusty storeroom for your first time!”

You grin. “There’s bedding,” you point out, “in one of the crates by the door. Besides, was _your_ first time memorable because of _where_ it was?”

“Ah… no,” he admits, “but that’s aside from the point, my warrior- mph!”

He looks even more startled when you interrupt him with a kiss, blushing adorably as he looks back at you, and you grin a little. “I don’t care if we’re on the floor of the Tower or in the middle of the Crystarium. Have you any idea how long I’ve wanted you? If that is your only concern, then put it from your mind.”

The blush darkens. “Well,” he says carefully, “I know how long _I_ have wanted _you-_ and thus I can understand the venue not mattering, much as I wish to treat you as you deserve.”

“You are.” You smile and kiss him on the tip of his nose, then the marks beneath his eyes. “Now, then… we’ll just make ourselves a bed, and enjoy the fact that there’s not a soul in Norvrandt or elsewhere who can reach us.”

“You are… most convincing.” He smiles and kisses you again, and you shiver- and then he draws back and takes your hands, giving you a soft grin. “Now, then… _where_ was that bedding?”

You are not nervous in the least when you take his hand and lead him to the crate, nor when you both make a nest for yourselves in the small nook where the carousel stands. You are eager, curious and anticipatory, and as soon as he declares the makeshift bed suitable, you kick your boots off and pull him down with you. His laughter is music to your ears, and you kiss him again and again as you become more comfortable with the way of it all. He reaches down to undo his sandals, but you catch his hands and draw back. “Let me,” you say. He blinks, then smiles as you shift and reach to carefully loosen the straps of his sandals- but curious as you are, his legs catch your attention, and you push his robe up just a little. He is _so_ warm, and your hands slip beneath the heavy fabric as they trace up his calves to his knees. He is strong, legs firmly muscled, and you imagine the rest of him as well- especially given what you’ve seen of his arms. “Old, hm?” you ask teasingly, drawing your fingertips over the backs of his calves.

“Very,” he deadpans, but his eyes are sparkling and his lips are curved- and parted just a little, making you unable to resist leaning up to kiss him. You draw back and grin, and he blinks and blushes just a little as you lean down and brush your lips against an ankle, trailing your fingertips over the other.

"Well then,” you say, looking up at him teasingly as he leans forward to peer at you, “you should probably be still… it wouldn’t do to overexert yourself.”

He lets out a breathy laugh and nods. “Who am I to deny you, my warrior?” he murmurs, and the way he calls you that sends sparks along your nerves. “I shall do as you bid me- I am yours.”

The rush that sends through you makes you shiver, and you press a hot, wet kiss against the skin beneath your lips. This, you think, is probably rather backwards from how sex is supposed to work- as you understand it, one is meant to start from the _top-_ but you have to admit… you love his legs, and so you indulge yourself. He seems enthralled as he watches you explore them, and the way he shivers and gasps faintly at times tells you that he is surprised indeed to find that there are places there that feel as good as they do. You find a sensitive spot on the back of one of his calves and linger there, grazing the skin with your teeth and sucking lightly at it, and he shudders and leans back on his elbows. The back of the other knee gets the same treatment, and then you are _well_ beneath his robes and think that you should perhaps feel at least a little shy, but you don’t. You only _want_ him, and you want to continue. Your only regret is that you can’t see his face from here, but, well… you can imagine, especially from the way his hands have landed on your head through the heavy fabric.

He wears shorts beneath the robes, you find- and you like that, teasingly pushing your fingers beneath the hem on each thigh. You feel something strike your back through the fabric- gently, very gently- and you laugh a little when you realize it’s his tail. Your breath on his inner thighs excites him, it seems, and so you catch the fabric with your teeth and draw it up a bit so you can reach more of his soft, smooth skin. There is no crystal here- you’ve no idea how far it goes and, admittedly, have been curious about it. You continue upward, then, over the fabric this time, and he is practically shaking. You pause when you feel his hand move away, then the fabric loosens at his waist, and you realize he’s undone the belt he wears- that sends a rush of heat between your own legs, and you let your breath out against his hipbone and make him gasp in return. You _could_ keep going, you think, but, well…

You don’t want to just yet.

"Is it all right?” you ask softly- as you can’t see his face, he’ll have to tell you whether or not he wants you to touch him. You won’t move until then.

Luckily, however, he tells you _quickly_, and in a way that leaves no room for doubt. “Gods, yes,” he manages. “Yes, you- you may do as pleases you, I… I would love little more… _ah!_”

You smile to yourself and lift your hand, then slowly rest it against the straining fabric- he twitches against your palm, and you feel yourself turn scarlet. He lets out a groan and drops his hands to your shoulders, and you trail your fingertips over him, exploring him through the fabric. He is somehow larger than you’d imagined, and you’re not shy about the fact that you have- your fantasies are _quite_ pleased, in fact. He moans your name, and you curl your fingers around him, carefully stroke him as his hips press upward. You get an idea, then, and grin as you lean forward and breathe against his tip as you continue- his hips jerk this time, and you do it once more before tasting the wet spot that’s gathered with the tip of your tongue. His thighs tremble, and you reach up and pull the waistband of his shorts down to touch him directly, and _oh,_ how he_ sings_ for you- he clutches at you through his robes, then scrabbles at the fabric to tug it out of the way. The air is suddenly cool against your skin, and you blink a little in the light, but you are no less interested in your prize- you drag your tongue up the vein on the underside, swirl it around his tip and shiver a little as you listen to him. He is not shy about showing his pleasure, and you _appreciate_ that.

He finally pushes you away and lays still a second, panting, then pushes himself up just enough to grab you, to tug you down over him and kiss you hard. It’s beautiful and inelegant, tongues tangling between your mouths before your lips touch, and another jolt goes through you. “If you continue,” he mumbles into your mouth, “I’ll _certainly_ not be able to treat you as you deserve, so- pray… give me a moment, and allow me to see to _your_ pleasure.”

"I won’t complain,” you reply, blushing at the very idea of that sweet mouth on your body. You’d wondered all through Mor Dhona if he was a good kisser- you’d heard rumors to the effect, but some of them had been cruel, and so you’d shut your ears and ignored anyone who spoke of him. He smiles and kisses you again, then gently works at the clasps of your top. You _are_ overdressed, you think, _both_ of you are, and he somehow manages to make undressing just as exciting as everything else- he kisses the skin he bares, practically worships you with mouth and hands both, and all you can do is arch helplessly beneath him. As he works, however, your attention is drawn elsewhere- his ears are flicking a little, perking and falling depending on what he’s up to, and you place your hands on them and wring a low groan from him. You grin to yourself as you stroke them, and he slumps a bit over your chest- he loves it, and that makes you _very_ happy. His ears are soft and warm, and they seem to have a mind of their own as they press into your touch and quiver as you tease them- just as when he speaks, how they always betray his emotions. You find them _so_ charming, and you think you could be happy doing this for bells.

Finally, he laughs and reaches up, bats your hands gently away from his ears. “I will let you do this to your heart’s content _after_ we are finished,” he says, amused. “I cannot think straight when your hands are on my ears, and I wish to _focus._” His tone is teasing and warm, and you laugh before obediently dropping your hands to his shoulders… and then to his braid. You tug the tie out, and smile at his look of surprise. “Ah-… you like it down?”

“I watched you brush it some mornings,” you murmur, and his eyes light like the night sky. “I always wondered if it was as soft as it looked.” You smile as you draw your hands through it. “It is.”

“You may do that as well, if you wish.” He pushes himself up and kisses you, then braces himself on his forearms and smiles down at you, nose to nose. His body is set against yours in a way that makes you want to beg him for more, and he catches your lower lip between his teeth and makes your breath hitch. “Now,” he breathes as he lets go, “I would bid you relax and enjoy- and if you dislike what I’m doing, _tell_ me.”

There’s nothing he could do to you that you wouldn’t like. He could tie you spread-eagle to one of the crates and you’d only beg him for more. Still, you nod, because you suppose you don’t know that for _sure…_ and he kisses you again before giving you a mischievous grin and drawing back.

All you can do then is grip the fur beneath you and try to keep from yelling- but you break when you feel his breath against you, and he laughs as he makes your vision go white.

He returns to you and kisses you hard, and you taste yourself in his mouth and whine a little. You want far more than his fingers inside of you, and he seems more than glad to oblige you- when he takes you, you nearly lose control then and there. Your heart is pounding in your ears and he is warm and solid in your arms- everything falls away, _everything,_ and it is just _you_ and _Raha_ as he loves you as he’s wished to for the last century. The look in his eyes is joyful, is _awed,_ and he watches you even as he struggles to keep his focus. When he gets close to the edge, his breath comes fast and shallow, his brows come together- you tip over just from that alone, cry his name as you’ve imagined doing hundreds of times, and he buries his face in your hair as he comes apart for you.

The two of you are something else, you think distantly as you breathe hard and clutch him close to your heart- fueled by one another, strengthened by one another, _driven _by one another.

He is so gentle with you afterwards, cleaning you carefully with one of the blankets before wadding it up and tossing it to the wayside, then curling protectively around you and pulling the rest of the blankets over you both. “My warrior,” he murmurs, kissing your crown. “My inspiration… I love you so…”

“I love you, Raha,” you say, and he makes a quiet sound like a muffled sob and holds you tight. The two of you lay still and quiet, the soft hum of the Tower the only sound in the room… at least until he begins to sing softly, the same song as before, and you smile and close your eyes, tucked into his arms and secure.

_Once the laughter fades, he looks up at the stars with a helpless smile and shrugs. “Sometimes I look to the future and imagine finding someone I want to marry- I think of that when I hear this song.”_

_You look at him in surprise, but then smile shyly and look up at the stars as well. You’re not sure you’ll ever be that lucky, but… you suppose it’s nice to think about. “I like the idea. Maybe we can make it a new tradition.”_

_His ears shoot up and his tail fluffs, and he stammers- you laugh, and he shakes his head and sighs before laughing as well._

You hold him all the closer, and promise yourself that this dream of his will come true.


	8. Looking In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down to work on chapter 7 of Song of Forever and then this happened.
> 
> :D;
> 
> Filling in the gaps as I go!

Laughter, warm and joyous, rang out in the still air. Night had fallen and the day’s work had ended, with people instead turning toward companionship and camaraderie around the cookfire. Music played as well, a spritely tune played on a lute, and amidst the conversation was singing- and a couple people even got up to dance.

Shrouded in the darkness, standing apart from the rest and half-hidden by a tent, G’raha Tia watched the revelry and distantly wished he dared join in. He knew what was said about him- _strange,_ mainly. _Eccentric. Different._ He was all of those things, he figured, and his ears drooped as he looked up at the sky- and then turned away. There wasn’t a place for him amongst them, not truly, for all that the expedition was a group effort. He was as ever happiest with his books and his scrolls, taking notes based on years of research and days of first-hand experience in the Labyrinth and Syrcus Tower… and he told himself it was enough. After all- what else could he possibly need?

… but then there was _him._

G’raha walked back to his tent- the one he shared with the _him,_ in question, the Warrior of Light. That Yhen’a was a proper bard both pleased and irritated him; had things been different, G’raha might have wished to become the same- but he had a different path to walk. Yhen’a always had his nose in his composition book, though whatever it was he wrote, he didn’t share. He, like many Eorzeans, was illiterate- and so chances were that it was a system he’d developed for himself that G’raha wouldn’t understand anyway. That didn’t stop him from being curious, as curiosity was in his nature, but… more and more, he found himself thinking less about whatever it was he was writing and more about _him._

With a soft sigh, G’raha flopped down on one of the makeshift benches by their campfire and tossed a couple more branches on, coaxing it to rise again. He rubbed his hands together and warmed them near the flames, and he told himself that he should get back to work… but laughter rang out again, more distant this time, and he glanced wistfully toward the center of camp. Were things different, he thought, he might have joined them- might have sat next to Yhen’a and sang with him. The Keeper’s voice was a gorgeous, light tenor- he’d sang with him a couple times, though in private, and their voices mixed very well together. It was easy to open up with Yhen’a around, at least to a degree, even though they’d had such a rough start. After G’raha making him chase him through the Shroud, Yhen’a had ignored him entirely for a little while- then they’d started snipping at one another. G’raha had been fairly convinced that they’d eventually come to blows, but… when his pride took a hit instead of his cheek, and that courtesy of Rammbroes instead of Yhen’a, he’d simply turned tail and fled to the base of the Tower with a book.

… and then Yhen’a had found him, bearing a basket of oranges, and had taken him into the Tower regardless. His crush on the Warrior of Light had begun in _earnest_ at that point.

Were things different, he thought, perhaps he might have taken the risk of asking him to Revenant’s Toll, to spend an evening in the tavern drinking and singing and sharing stories. Were _he_ different, it might have been easy to do so. He viewed the world so much differently than everyone else… it was hard to relate to them because he just didn’t understand. Were Yhen’a a Seeker he might have had more luck, because then at least he’d have someone who understood what his life had been like- but he was a Keeper, and worlds different. Yhen’a was beautiful, admired by _everyone,_ and Keeper men seemed even more rare than Seeker- it wasn’t unusual at all for a Tia to strike out on his own, but for a Keeper to leave the Shroud was rare, at least as he understood it.

Ah, but were Yhen’a a Seeker, it would be easy for G’raha to offer him a night spent in pleasure instead of study or slumber. He didn’t want to be seen as a _savage,_ for he knew there were those who saw his people thus- and truly, their tribal lifestyle lent itself to the image. G’raha had zero interest in becoming Nunh of his tribe, though in the back of his mind he knew the Allagan eye would have to be passed on if his research came to nothing. No, his interests lay elsewhere, far outside the boundaries of his village and the passionate, _temporary _affairs of those within. Had he a wish for himself, it would be for one person to understand him, one person to _know_ him, to know the very depths of his heart… and, thus, to _accept_ him.

He’d not found anyone who came close, but a night of passion with Yhen’a was still an appealing thought.

Back in his days in the Studium he’d shrouded himself in what others began to assume was eccentricity, keeping himself aloof and aloft from his peers as much as he could while he focused on- and spoke of- little more than his research. There was a time, however, before he knew better… before he truly realized how incompatible he really was with his peers. G’raha did recall- very well- the few times he’d allowed himself a friend in his arms. Not much had ever happened, not until a pretty Midlander near his own age named Adney. They both had a tendency to study very late, and had become friends over shared tomes and a quiet nook in the library they preferred. He couldn’t have really put a finger on how it had happened, but one thing led to another as time went on and eventually the two shared a first kiss, then a second, then a third. The last night they’d shared the nook, she’d ended up in his lap as they made out, had reached between them and felt him half-hard in his trousers, had gently rubbed him to urge him further- and he’d gasped, nearly dropped her entirely in his haste to get up and get away.

She’d not come back, though he’d hoped that she would… he had so few friends, it seemed awful to lose one over something like that.

From then, he began to understand. He used his good looks and his talent for storytelling and song to build a wall between himself and others, slowly and surely, making certain that they all stayed _out_ and _away_ from him. It was better to seem superficial and almost vapid than to risk something like _that_ happening again. He’d not been ready, and he’d reacted poorly… and he’d never been able to apologize, for she avoided him as very best she could from then on, and that was when people began looking at him oddly. He had taken a lover here and there later on, of course, for one night and no more- it was more than enough, in his mind.

Yhen’a, he thought, wouldn’t treat him that way. He was someone who was trustworthy, who was _understanding. _He was warm and caring, was kind despite being somewhat insufferable- that didn’t matter. G’raha liked him, he _genuinely_ liked him. Seeing him made his breath catch and his heartbeat stutter a little.

If he had the chance, he thought, he’d take him in his arms and kiss him, _taste_ him. He’d press his lips to his throat to feel every sound he made, every breath- he’d trace scars etched into skin like the starry night sky, would brush kisses along his collarbone and the side of his neck. He would do whatever he could to, in that moment, be the only thing the bard saw- to be the only thing he thought of. It was as unlike him as sprouting wings and flying, or would be, perhaps, to Yhen’a- G’raha kept these feelings locked tightly away, these desires… this _need_ to be _known._ It was easier that way, and in any case… even if he could, if he _did,_ he was the Warrior of Light- he had a duty to far, far more than just one sad, strange Seeker.

He shifted his weight. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, and he glanced guiltily toward the center of camp before rising and slipping into the tent. It was rare that he allowed himself a moment of indulgence, but this seemed like an opportune moment- and his rebellious mind had continued on regardless, presenting idea after idea, image after image of things they might do together. He unfastened his belt and unlaced his trousers, curled onto his side on his cot with his back to the entrance, and reached between his legs. It was so easy to imagine his hands on Yhen’a’s body, starkly pale against his night-sky skin- or Yhen’a’s on his own, soft lips on his neck, his chest, his stomach. He took himself in hand, stiff and yearning, and let out a shaky breath as he thought of it. Perhaps one of their cots would do, or perhaps he’d have him against one of the myriad of crystals in the area- there were plenty of places to hide. He would taste him first, nibble at slick skin and tongue his slit before slowly taking him into his mouth… and then he would bid him turn away, to bend over the bed, the crystal, the _table-_

He imagined the sound Yhen’a would make when his tongue touched his entrance. The very _thought_ made him throb just a little, and he shakily reached up with his free hand to push his ears down firmly.

It was these thoughts swirling in his fevered mind that brought him to the edge, his lips parted as he panted and struggled not to cry out. He _wanted_ to, Azeyma help him, he wanted to cry Yhen’a’s name as the bard took him, as one arm wrapped securely around his chest while the other hand dropped to his waist, then wrapped around his length and stroked him in time with his thrusts. He would let Yhen’a hold him like that, he thought, he’d let himself be that vulnerable- let him feel each breath, each heartbeat, each shiver. It was with a trembling gasp that he came, spilling over his fingers and onto his blankets, stroking himself rhythmically until he could no longer continue. The ache left behind would be pleasant, he thought, instead of empty as it was then…

… and instead of laying alone in a cold tent, there would be a warm body pressed against his, strong arms around him, a tail soft as anything twirled around his own.

Mismatched eyes stared at the wall of the tent for a little while before he rose and cleaned himself, the movements almost mechanical. He was alone, would _be_ alone, and he simply had to get used to it. It was better this way, it always had been- and likely always would be. Yhen’a’s journeys would take him far beyond G’raha’s reach, even farther than he already was.

Outside, the fire continued burning cheerfully, and G’raha resumed his spot in front of it. The laughter continued, as did the singing, and he picked up one of his tomes and opened it, deciding that this would be a good opportunity to get some studying done… because after all, he was standing on the very cusp of his life-long dream. _Surely_ nothing was more important than that…

Surely…


	9. At Your Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yhen'a makes good on a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Sal and Lefane for taking a glance at this in its early stages- your support is what got this fic finished :Db
> 
> This could probably be read as a sequel to the heat fic, if you were so inclined, only because of the last couple lines- but it can also stand alone:) I hope you enjoy it!

“There.”

The last of the straps was carefully hooked into place, and G’raha blinked against the soft blindfold tied around his head. When Yhen’a had asked him if he’d wanted to try something new he’d had no reason at all to say no, and when he’d told him what it was, well…

… he blushed. His body had answered for him, and the look in Yhen’a’s eyes had been promising and almost _feral._

Yhen’a settled next to him on the bed, reached up and stroked his hair, smoothed his ears down. G’raha sighed softly and tipped his head into the touch, and the Keeper gave him a pleased hum. “You’re comfortable?” he asked, slipping his finger beneath the cuff on his ankle to make sure it wasn’t too tight.

“I am,” G’raha replied- though the position he was in was _interesting,_ he could relax and let the leather hold him in place. The ankle cuffs were attached to thick straps around his thighs, which drew his knees up and hooked to a belt- soft, all, and oddly comfortable, in a way. His hands were cuffed above his head, and held there by ties that Yhen’a had secured to the bed. He smiled and tipped his head up, and Yhen’a brushed his fingertips against his lips. “I trust you… do as pleases you.”

“Oh, I will.” Yhen’a’s tone was sincere, and G’raha shivered a little. “Before we start, though, you’ll need to pick a safe word- something that will tell me if it’s too much.” He drew his fingertips up G’raha’s inner thigh, which made him shiver. “Don’t say you don’t need one. I love you too much to let that slide.”

G’raha blinked again. The blindfold was heavy and no light came through, and so he had no real idea of where Yhen’a was in the room- though he wasn’t bothered by it. His trust in Yhen’a was limitless. Still, he could appreciate the bard’s insistence on making sure he was safe and comfortable, so he considered his options. “Well,” he said slowly. “I suppose ‘Allag’ would be too obvious…”

Yhen’a laughed and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Oh, that’s perfect,” he teased. “I doubt you stop thinking about Allag even when I’m inside of you, so I don’t have to worry about you forgetting it.”

G’raha’s eyes widened indignantly, then he pouted- and Yhen’a pressed his thumb to his lips, which made him shiver. “I’ll have you know I think of nothing but you in those moments,” he said primly- and the chuckle he heard sent a thrill up his spine.

“Good,” Yhen’a purred. He paused, then gently traced his thumb along G’raha’s lower lip. “Are you ready?”

“Y-yes.” G’raha swallowed thickly and tipped his head back, cheeks feeling hot already. Yhen’a hadn’t even touched him and he was half-hard already, his body answering to his presence and the charge in the air just as they were. “I’m ready.”

Yhen’a kissed him and he responded eagerly- the Keeper lingered, then drew back and licked G’raha’s lips, earning a soft rush of breath against his own. “All right. Remember… if it’s too much, use your safe word. I’ll stop immediately.”

G’raha nodded, then stared into the darkness. “You… you’ve done this before?” he asked hesitantly.

“Mhm. … had it done to me, I mean.” Yhen’a chuckled and kissed his cheek, then his mouth- but he drew back before G’raha could press close for more. “Are you jealous?”

_Yes._ G’raha bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself quiet and took a slow breath as Yhen’a trailed kisses down his neck. “I… am,” he finally admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Yhen’a’s lips were soft and gentle on his neck, his hands warm on his sides. “Don’t be sorry. I’m yours, Raha… everything I’ve learned is for us, now.” G’raha felt him grin against his collarbone as he continued. “I’m going to enjoy spoiling you- you have no idea. You’ve over a hundred years of pent-up frustration, and I’ve got a mind to make up for every single one.” He drew back, then, and hummed softly- G’raha’s ears followed him, swiveling as he shifted. It was good of him, he thought, to make sure that he knew where he was.

G’raha was still and quiet, then gasped a little when he felt something soft on the underside of his thigh. Yhen’a had him carefully bound, and when he squirmed the leather was soft against his skin- but it showed absolutely no sign of budging. “A-ah… Yhen’a…?”

“Hmm?” Yhen’a sounded amused as he stroked whatever it was- a_ feather?_ Perhaps from the quill on his desk- his train of thought derailed when the Keeper pressed a kiss to his knee. “Just relax… tonight is about you.”

“Mm…” G’raha let his head fall back against the pillow, then shifted as the feather repeated its path before squirming a little again. It tickled, though he figured it felt well enough- and then his breath hitched as Yhen’a drew it further up his thigh, gently up the crease leading up to his hip. His mouth followed, and G’raha let his breath out as his eyes rolled back. He was teasing, yes, but in a way that made him less frustrated and more excited for what was to come. Yhen’a was direct in everything he did, and this seemed no different. “H-hah…”

Yhen’a chuckled quietly, ghosted his lips over his hipbone and then shifted to press a hot kiss on the side of his knee- and when he marked the spot his lips had found, G’raha gasped sharply and clenched his hands into fists for want of being able to touch his hair. “Very good,” Yhen’a murmured, clearly pleased that he’d not tried to fight his restraints. “Let go, Raha… let me handle the rest.”

_Let go._ What an unassumingly difficult thing to do. G’raha, who had held on to his goal tooth and nail for more than a century, who led the Crystarium and all her people, had never been good at letting go in the first place- and the years had made him worse at it. With Yhen’a, however, it was easier- and he let out a shaky sigh as he relaxed again, felt warm hands sweep over the curve of his rear in approval. He supposed it was easier that he was blindfolded; seeing himself on display as he was would surely have made it more difficult. Yhen’a drew his fingers along the base of his tail, which he’d left free- it twitched at the gentle caress, and G’raha shivered. Yhen’a had always been different… wonderfully, amazingly, _incredibly_ different- not as he himself had been. Where G’raha had kept a distance between himself and everyone else- necessary to spare himself, to spare his heart- Yhen’a had crossed it effortlessly with a basket of oranges and a cocky declaration that only Menphina could forbid him anything, sweeping him along in his wake. It had been impossible not to come to care for him.

Another shiver wracked his body as Yhen’a stroked his fur, then gave his tail a gentle tug before laughing quietly- he thought to ask what was so funny, but he found out quickly enough when something soft brushed along his thighs. “_Yhen’a,_” he began, then his breath hitched as Yhen’a slowly trailed the tip of his tail right between his legs. The soft fur against where he was most sensitive made his hips jerk a little, and he gasped and arched as best he could- it felt incredible, and he wanted _more._ “Aah!”

“You’re thinking too much,” Yhen’a murmured, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh and then gently biting down, making him squirm. “Let _go,_ my love…”

G’raha bit his lip hard, then consciously turned his thoughts away from where they’d been headed. He didn’t know if he could only _feel,_ but he was going to try for Yhen’a’s sake. Gentle hands ran over his sides as his tail was carefully let go of, and then Yhen’a moved away from his legs and upward. It was hard not to tense, not to wonder what was coming next, but the soft touch of his lover’s lips on his neck was more than welcome, and he tipped his head back with a sigh of pleasure. “Yhen’a…”

“Relax,” Yhen’a whispered against his skin. “You’re safe with me, I promise. Have you never just stopped and _felt?_”

“N-no.” G’raha closed his eyes behind the blindfold and took a slow breath. Even during the times he’d lain with Yhen’a, he’d always been thinking- how good it felt, how beautiful Yhen’a was, how he _still_ couldn’t believe this was _really happening._ He did his best to focus on the warmth of his hands, the caress of his lips where skin met crystal- and slowly, slowly, he felt himself beginning to unwind. Tingles ran the length of his body and centered along the path Yhen’a took, and he trembled and shifted again in his restraints. His sense of time became foggy, and he let himself drift in _sensation._

Yhen’a moved back around him, rested his hands on his hips before withdrawing and then teasing him once more with whatever soft object he’d had- G’raha’s hungry mind seized the sensation and tried to analyze it, but he mercilessly cut it off in favor of paying attention. “There,” Yhen’a murmured, trailing it up along the edge of his thigh and down through the soft red hair at the base of his length. “That’s it… now you’ve got the hang of it. Good, Raha…”

Azeyma help him, but how the praise went straight to his aching erection- he could have begged Yhen’a to touch him, but he didn’t think it would get him anywhere. G’raha shivered and shifted, then gasped and arched his back as the feather drew up along him and made him twitch. His skin was already slick, he couldn’t help it- he was so worked up that a droplet fell to land on his stomach, and he trembled. The angle he was tied at left nothing to the imagination, and being exposed as he was seemed no longer cause for embarrassment, but rather excitement as he imagined how Yhen’a must have felt watching him. He let his mind wander even as he focused on the heat building in his core, on the teasing way Yhen’a touched him and drove him to distraction. He thought of the Keeper’s mouth on him, of the way he’d woken him just the other morning, bringing him back to the waking world with a low moan and a roll of his hips, and he shivered as the soft object- the _feather,_ he was almost sure- whispered against his tip and made his hips twitch. The leather straps around his waist kept him from moving them _too_ much, Twelve have _mercy,_ but it was enough for the moment- and Yhen’a was pleased, pressing warm kisses to his knees and thighs as he teased him.

After a moment or two, Yhen’a drew back, and G’raha let out a whimper that segued into a low, rich groan as strong hands began to rub his ears. “Yhe-_n’a,_” he managed, hands clenching into fists again. He shivered all over and felt the fur on his tail stand on end as Yhen’a carefully fondled his ears, pressing them down firmly and then rubbing the thick shell at the base, drawing his fingers up and lightly rubbing the sensitive tips where his fur grew long and silky. He repeated this motion and G’raha’s eyes rolled back, his breath coming in short, sharp pants- could he _finish_ from this? He didn’t know, and he was afraid to even think on it lest he humiliate himself. He arched and tipped his head back, aching in earnest but happily focused on the waves of pleasure and the tingles that the hands on his ears wrung from him. “Ahh… hah- I d-don’t… mmn, Yhen’a-!”

Yhen’a chuckled quietly. “It seems like the only way I can get you to hold still so I can properly play with your ears is to tie you down,” he said, breath whispering against the shell of one ear and making G’raha tremble. “You clearly enjoy it…”

“I… I do,” G’raha managed. “I _do-!_ Ah!” A sharp nip at the tip of the ear Yhen’a had breathed into made him jerk in surprise, and then he groaned through grit teeth as the Keeper delicately nibbled his way down one side and back up the other. “Gods, Twelve have _mercy-!_”

“If you want it, you’ve but to ask,” Yhen’a said with a laugh that sent sparks zinging along G’raha’s nerves. “Somehow… I don’t think you really do.”

“No, it… it’s fine,” G’raha managed. “It’s f-fineeee-!” He arched his back again as Yhen’a delicately licked the inner shell of his ear, felt himself twitch insistently as another drop of fluid splashed onto his skin. “Ah, _ah!_ Yhen’a!”

Yhen’a’s lips curved against G’raha’s soft fur. “Keep saying my name like that,” he said, his voice dark and promising, “and I’ll make you come so hard you’ll think the Tower itself shook.”

G’raha felt his face turn scarlet. _That_ was a promise he _dearly_ wanted kept. “Oh,” he said faintly. “I- gh- I… w-want you to, _Yhen’a!_”

With a soft growl, Yhen’a caught his ear between his teeth again, then let go and moved down to kiss him. That was wonderfully welcome, and G’raha parted his lips immediately and let Yhen’a take control, kissing him as though he were drowning- and breathing deep as he sank beneath the waves. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, wanted to _feel_ him, and for the first time he tugged at the restraints at his wrists- they held fast, but he figured he could _probably_ get free if he _really_ wanted to.

… he didn’t, of course.

Yhen’a caught his lower lip and worried it gently between his teeth, then drew kisses down his neck again, leaning over him and forcing his chin up as he kissed down the trembling line of his throat. A moan made the Keeper shiver a little, and G’raha realized all at once that he certainly did have power even being where he was- and so he sang for him as his mouth trailed lower, doing nothing at all to muffle or restrain his voice. The whimpers and pleas and cries of his name formed the ballad Yhen’a moved to, hands and mouth as sure and careful as they were with harp and lyric, warm and confident and _knowing._ It wasn’t long until Yhen’a was teasing him all over again, this time with the tip of his tongue instead of the feather, and G’raha shook all over. “Look at you,” Yhen’a said, his voice low and husky. “You’re so turned on by this that you’re dripping- I’d say you like it.”

G’raha blushed fiercely and squirmed. He didn’t feel uncomfortable with Yhen’a’s eyes on him, nor thanks to his comments- he just felt hot all over, like he was ready to combust at any second, and _excited._ “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking a little. “Yhen’a- I want you, _need_ you, p-please-!”

“How can I refuse?” Yhen’a’s voice held a note of mischief in it, one that made G’raha’s ears perk- he had a split second to take a breath and try to prepare himself before that wicked mouth trailed lower, and then all he could do was cry out. He had imagined doing this to Yhen’a but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve- had he been younger, had the time between them remained as it had been back then…

… well, it hadn’t, and he was _going to_ as soon as he could _move_.

Slick fingers began to tease him, then, and G’raha let out an embarrassingly loud whine. His eyes rolled back all over again when the first finger pressed into him- he was so eager at that point that Yhen’a probably could have done the bare minimum and he would’ve been fine with it. Still, as ever, the bard was careful and thorough, making sure he was comfortable with one finger before moving on to two, then three- he waited until G’raha broke and begged him for more each time, and finally worked up past rational thought, G’raha shook all over. “Yhen’a, I- please, _please,_ I-!”

“Darling Raha,” Yhen’a murmured. “You’ve been so good… I think that deserves a reward.”

G’raha was, at that point, fairly certain that the whole of the Crystarium could hear him yelling his lover’s name- even from deep within the Tower. Yhen’a leaned over him- he presumed, with the Twelve-damned blindfold he had no idea- but it didn’t matter much, because he pressed into him carefully and drove the breath from G’raha’s lungs and all rational thought from his mind. The edges of what was left began to fray and blur as Yhen’a filled him, as he adjusted to the sensation he’d been craving- it was only a couple thrusts, he was _just_ at the right angle. He felt his grip on his self-control slipping until it was gone entirely, until Yhen’a kept his promise and G’raha came so hard it knocked him senseless. Waves of pleasure pounded through him in rhythm with his racing heartbeat, all he could think of was Yhen’a, _Yhen’a-_ beautiful, mysterious, wonderful, _incredible-_

… and all his. _All his._

When he was left trembling in the aftermath, Yhen’a unhooked the restraints without moving away, having rigged them in such a way that they’d be easy to unlatch in the moment. G’raha collapsed around him, arms and legs winding about his shoulders and hips as he held on tight as he could while he trembled. Yhen’a held him close, scattered kisses across his cheeks and nose, then removed the blindfold. G’raha slowly opened his eyes, blinked owlishly in the light- backlit as he was, Yhen’a seemed to glow with the Tower’s aether, and a sweet smile curved G’raha’s lips.

“I love you,” G’raha breathed. “I love you…”

Yhen’a closed his eyes briefly and then kissed him long and slow. “I love you, too,” he breathed, lips brushing G’raha’s as he spoke for want of space between them.

How G’raha _craved_ him.

After a moment, Yhen’a drew back and carefully unfastened the straps, then the belt, and set them all aside. G’raha still felt somewhat pretzeled, stiff as he was, though he’d do it all again and again if given half a chance- a glance down at his torso showed that he’d made an _impressive_ mess, and Yhen’a blushed as he looked at him before reaching for a cloth he’d set aside in a bowl of warm water. G’raha purred softly as Yhen’a cleaned him, enjoying the way he took his time and lingered even where he was still _so_ sensitive- the cloth against his skin felt amazing, and he was content to lay back and enjoy it.

Thinking that he’d curl up next to him and they’d fall asleep, G’raha was more than ready to do so, though his muscles were sore- but Yhen’a shifted and straddled his waist, and clever hands went to work on his arms and shoulders. G’raha let out a throaty groan and closed his eyes as tingles shot through his body all over again- Yhen’a was _so_ careful with him, massaging stiff muscles and easing the tension away. The bard worked his way down his torso, rubbed firm circles just next to his hips and made his lashes flutter, kneaded at his thighs and made his tail thump on the mattress in absolute bliss. By the time he was done- he’d even massaged his _tail,_ Azeyma bless him- G’raha was little more than a puddle of contented, thoroughly pleased Seeker. He tucked himself into Yhen’a’s arms when the bard stretched out beside him and pulled the blankets up over them- gods, he was _so_ happy.

Yhen’a wrapped him in a tight embrace and kissed the marks beneath his eyes and the crystal on his cheek, and when he tipped his head up imploringly, he kissed him long and slow- G’raha felt like he was floating, anchored to the world only by Yhen’a’s arms around him and the soft tail that curled possessively around his thigh. “My love,” he breathed, “my soulmate- Raha… I’m so thankful…”

“Me, too,” G’raha mumbled. “My Yhen’a- I love you so…” He yawned a little, felt himself slipping toward slumber, and smiled sleepily when Yhen’a lifted a hand to lightly rub the base of his ears. “Mm… y’re so good t’me,” he mumbled- the last thing he heard was Yhen’a’s warm, gentle laugh, and he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

He would, he thought, have nothing but sweet dreams for the rest of his _life_ at this rate- and he couldn’t have been happier.


	10. I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed fluff today. Here's a quick warm-up piece I wrote before digging into a new project with several co-authors- can't tell you more than that, but you'll see it soon ;D
> 
> come yell at me on Twitter! - @aetherstitch

It’s early when he wakes you with soft lips whispering against your cheek. You open your eyes slowly, then close them again and let your breath out in a sigh as his hand drifts down your body to trace the line of soft hair that leads from your navel and further, fingertips gentle and light. You shiver, and your tail thumps on the blankets- he laughs quietly, a sound that sends sparks through you. You’d fallen asleep on your back with him curled half atop you last night, and it seems neither of you had gone far while sleeping. The light inside your tent is still mostly dark, but you don’t need it to see him- nor does he need it to see you. He presses closer yet, warm and insistent against your hip as he traces circles just above your base, buries his face in your neck and breathes deeply of you.

He murmurs your name, and you sigh shakily.

What had started off shakily had grown solid over weeks spent in one another’s presence. You’re not sure when _this_ had started to develop, though- it just seemed natural when it did, the way he tugged you close and kissed you, all confidence and desire. He’d not hesitated, although he’d had no need to, you reflect, and that had probably been evident in the glances the two of you had begun to share, quiet, appraising looks that spoke far more than words ever could hope to. He is as wild and untamed as you are, owing to your heritage and your upbringing, but for you… for _you,_ he comes close enough to touch, and you run your hands through his hair and over his ears just to see him smile.

He asks you a lover’s question, leans up to murmur it directly into your ear, which makes it twitch and flick against his nose. He laughs low and rich, seeing as how your body has already answered him, but he waits for your voice- he _always_ waits. When you grant it to him he shifts and moves up over you, and your hands come to rest on his hips as he straddles your thighs, plucks the vial of oil from the ground and coats his hand. He grins down at you and licks his lips, and _Twelve_ but he looks delectable like this, mismatched eyes shining and red hair falling in careless waves to his collarbone. You wish he’d wear it down more, but at the same time you know this is a sight reserved for you alone, and you find yourself feeling _very_ possessive as you gaze on him. Your tail comes to wind around his hips, and his finds a home around your arm as he takes you in hand and wrings a growl from you as your hands fall to grip the blankets.

The light seems to grow brighter as he pays you the attention he thinks you warrant- his touch is almost reverent. He is always gentle when he pleases you, even when playing rough. It doesn’t matter how he bites you or how he wrestles with you, how tight he grips your wrists or how he pulls your hair- there is an undeniable gentleness within him, and you are helpless before it. There is very little you wouldn’t let him do, and his eyes widen just a little as he takes the sight of you beneath him in… you lift your hands over your head and grip the pillow, arch your back a little as he rubs your tip with the pad of his thumb. Your ears are nearly pinned now, and the blush that had started on your cheeks has crept down almost to your collarbone- and he smiles and says your name on a soft, gentle sigh.

You watch as his hand slips between his legs, as his lashes flutter and his eyes glaze with pleasure- and anticipation. He is always hungry for you, his ruby-aquamarine gaze nearly setting you ablaze with the force of his _want_, and you are happy to bow to it- you are _always_ happy to bow to it. His breath comes in ragged pants, and he makes sure that he won’t be injured before positioning your tip at his entrance- then he sinks down onto you with the most beautiful sound spilling from his lips, and all you can do is reach up and take him by the shoulders. He folds forward over you, forearms braced on either side of your chest, and you hold him as he shakes almost uncontrollably. Your name on his lips is a moan this time, colored with pleasure and an aching need that echoes in your blood until you can hear little more over the rush of it in your ears.

He pushes himself up and arches his back, hands bracing on your sides and then on his own legs as he sits up straight. He is unashamed in his pleasure and he wants you to see it, and you watch entranced as he begins to move, his breath soft and hitching with each rise and fall of his body onto yours. He is flushed in the same way you are, all sign of arrogance and mischief gone now as he watches you with his brows knit. You move your hips carefully with his, meet him rise to fall, and he groans and grits his teeth as his eyes fall closed. Your body craves more, _more,_ but your mind and heart are too hyper-focused on him to listen to pleasure’s siren song- you only want to give _him_ more, and so you reach up and take him in hand. He jerks as though you’d shocked him, lifts one hand and sinks his teeth into the flesh beneath his thumb to keep himself from yelling for the whole camp to hear- you lift your other hand to his cheek, and he releases his hand in favor of yours. He grips it with both of his, laps at your fingertips and lets out a long, soft whine high in his throat as his ears quiver and his eyes squeeze closed.

He is _stunning._

When he loses command of himself you watch in utter awe, taking in every detail and searing it into your memory. You will think of this during your nights alone, when you dream of nothing but returning to his side as quickly as duty will allow you to. He shakes head to toe as he throbs in your hand, as hot liquid splashes onto your fingers and your torso as well. He cries your name, muffled by your palm pressed tight over his mouth as he holds your hand firmly in place, then he moves it and presses it to his chest as he pants and slumps in the aftermath. His heart races beneath your hand even as he calms, and he looks at you with fire in his gaze all over again when he realizes that you haven’t found your own pleasure. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he sees to it, moving his hips in such a way that makes your eyes roll back, and when you spill within him he smiles and leans down to kiss you.

You linger over one another after that, cleaning up carefully and setting each other to rights before taking the time to simply lay still and cuddle close, buried beneath the blankets as the heat of your bodies wards off the chill in the air. You are utterly blissful, and so is he- he smiles at you, kisses your neck and breathes your name again, and this time… this time, he continues, his voice soft and almost nervous in its warmth.

_I love you,_ he says- and you hold him as tightly as you can, saying it back to him and laughing even as tears spring to both of your eyes. How things have changed, you think, from the irritated adventurer and arrogant scholar in the Shroud to comrades in Mor Dhona, from friends to lovers to beloved- an adventure all its own, and one you are more than happy to embark on with him by your side.

_I love you, Raha,_ you say, and he pushes himself up and kisses you, covers your body with his once more and looks you in the eye when the kiss breaks- he smiles at you, and then there’s nothing else to think of except how wonderful he is.


	11. duet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from the Discord- G'raha singing in the bath/shower.
> 
> With a spicy twist, because.... have you met me? :D;;
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

It is not often that you are woken to the sound of music. You lay still for a few breaths, then smile and open your eyes, realizing that it’s not just music- it’s _singing._ G’raha Tia is the sort of man who seems to be humming or singing to himself _all the time,_ and having access to a shower in your rooms in the Rising Stones must have been too tempting an opportunity to pass up. You find yourself looking forward to the same, and you close your eyes and lay still and quiet, the only movement from you being the rise and fall of your breath. You’re so comfortable, you don’t _want_ to get up, but…

… his singing is so beautiful- and so you push the blankets back and rise.

After stretching for a long moment, you pad to the washroom door and slip inside. The shower is tucked into the back of the room, walled off but not enclosed- if one were to walk around the stone wall, they’d be in it. You think it over for a few seconds, then slowly walk closer to the wall and rest your hand on it, smiling and closing your eyes as you listen. He’s singing a song in a language you wouldn’t recognize if it weren’t for the Echo, and you think it’s probably the one he grew up with, seeing as how the song seemed to be about Azeyma. His faith in the Goddess of his people has never wavered, and you are a little bit in awe of that fact. After everything _you_ have been through and seen, it’s no real surprise that you’ve become somewhat jaded.

You smile to yourself as you peek around the corner. He’s facing away from you, but you certainly can’t complain about that- the sight of his bare shoulders and back are enough to make your mouth water. He’s _gorgeous,_ and if rumors are to believed, he’s fickle as well- but you don’t care. You aren’t looking for anything permanent, and he’s welcome to range out and far and wide as he likes, so far as you’re concerned.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You wouldn’t be here with him if you didn’t have some sort of feelings for him.

All of that can wait, however, because right _now_ you just want to admire him. You let your gaze wander down his well-muscled back, down to where the soft red fur of his tail begins. That tail is happily swaying back and forth, and you smile fondly- he loves the water, shower, lake, and everything in between. You watch him as he scrubs at his hair, admire the lines of his neck as he tips his face into the water to rinse the shampoo away… your fingers twitch with the urge to touch him, to stroke his hair and toy with his ears as you had just a few bells ago. He’s delightfully sensitive, you’d found, and delightfully responsive- he’d been endlessly affectionate with you both before and after… and even _during,_ when you’d rubbed his ears and he’d buried his face in your neck and _purred._

You gulp just a little. You want him already, all over again, and in as many ways as he’ll allow for.

He turns around, presumably to wet his tail, and jumps a little when he sees you- and you wince. “Ah-! You startled me!” He laughs, though, and grabs your hands to draw you under the water… then close to his body for a long, warm kiss. “Good morning, my friend… I’m glad you decided to join me.” He lifts his hands to cup your face, then to stroke your hair. “Come, now… none of that! I want you here. In fact… I was just imagining what I might do if you _were._”

That gets your attention, and you look at him with a slow grin. “Were you?” you ask, your hands coming to rest on his hips. “What a coincidence… so was I.”

“Well, then,” he breathes into your ear, “perhaps we should… exchange ideas.”

If you’d thought you were hot and bothered before then, you think you might actually burst into flame now. Your heartbeat speeds up as you look at him, take in the way his mismatched eyes sparkle and how his full lips curve to reveal white teeth. You love his smile, you think dazedly- how it can be so mischievous and so adorable all at once… you don’t know, but it sums _him_ up perfectly. You kiss him again, and he responds eagerly, parting his lips against yours and tasting you as though he’d not done so countless times the night before. You sigh happily through your nose and press closer, and he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight- it’s a sensation you _dearly_ love, and you wish it could go on forever. You wonder, maybe after this expedition is done, if it will.

After a moment or so passes, he nips at your lips and grins at you, then rests his forehead against yours. You smile back at him and run your hands gently over his shoulders and down his back. He keeps himself in _excellent_ shape, and the play of muscle beneath soft skin is mesmerizing to you. You brush your lips against his once more, then kiss his neck, lap at the droplets of water that drift along his skin and draw a soft sound from him, especially when you drag your teeth across the mark you’d left the night before. It makes you blush a little, knowing it will be obvious- it’s right against his tattoo, and you’d gotten carried away- but he’d begged you to _keep going_ and you couldn’t stop yourself.

The whisper of his skin against yours is intoxicating, and when he steps back and pulls you beneath the water with him, you imagine what it would be like to kiss him in the rain. You think it would probably be like this, and the thought is so romantic that it makes you shiver as his warm hands glide down your body. “Ah, it’s enough to make me want to stay here another day,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Maybe we should,” you breathe back, and his ears perk and wiggle- you grin and kiss the tip of his nose, then press him back against the wall. “You like that idea, do you?”

“I must confess that I do,” he replies, grinning, “but I think you are well aware.” He leans forward to kiss you, then back against the wall again. “Here I am, then, your willing captive… what will you do with me, I wonder-?”

You carefully drag your nails down his chest, and he shivers and drops his shoulders back, pressing forward into your touch. He is not shy, your scholar- he’s _far_ from it. You’d been surprised the night before when he’d invited you into his tent with a knowing glance and a smile, and it was after things had truly begun to get heated that you’d suggested coming here instead. He has proven himself as quick a study at this as he is with most everything else, admitting after the fact that you are his first partner- you’d turned scarlet, but you’d been honored above all else. “Sing for me,” you murmur, surprising yourself a little- and him, clearly.

He looks at you and blushes. “A song?” he asks, a little flustered. He remembers how you’d used that word the night before, and you can’t help but grin… and when you nod, he smiles at you. He rests his hands at your waist and begins to sing softly at first, but growing in confidence when you set to work on him. His song is one you’ve heard him sing before, and when you’d asked him about it he’d told you- a bit embarrassed- that it was a love song from Ilsabard. You find it extremely symbolic now, and your lips curve against his neck. You can feel each breath, each note, beneath your lips- you linger for a few breaths, tracing his tattoo with your tongue and then gently lapping at the hollow of his throat as he tips his head back and rests it against the wall. His voice is so beautiful, and in the stone enclosure of the shower, it sounds even better… you’re in no rush, and neither is he.

His breath hitches a bit as you scatter kisses across his collarbone and down further, and he has to work to keep his voice steady when you teasingly draw your tongue across a stiff nipple. His tail coils around your hips, and you smile and press a warm, wet kiss just above his heart- he has become precious to you, from arrogant and irritating to warm and inviting. His arrogance you now see as eagerness, his long-winded explanations of most everything related to Allag you see as excitement and passion for the subject. He is truly thrilled to be where he is, and around you, he is unafraid to show it.

You are, therefore, more than glad to kneel for him- but you tease him just a little, and his voice shakes as you kiss his inner thighs. He leans forward just a bit, the music coming soft and breathy as he struggles with himself, and gentle hands find a home in your hair as your mouth finally trails upward to where he wishes it. His tail is now draped around your neck, the tip tickling your chin as it flicks and twitches erratically. You hum softly and wish you could reach his ears, but you content yourself with drawing your tongue up the underside of his length before taking him in hand and lapping at the tip. His voice breaks when you take him into your mouth, slide closer yet until your nose is pressed against the red hair at his base. He keeps singing, somehow, even when you swallow around him and his knees buckle- you brace him with your hands on his hips, and he bends forward and rests his hands on your shoulders. His fingers flex in rhythm with his breathing, harsh and uneven even though he tries to continue as you’d bade him, and he calms a little when you draw back.

When you take him in all the way again, he cries out, and you smile to yourself.

Before things have a chance to come to an early end, you draw back once more and tongue playfully at his slit before sitting back on your heels and holding your arms out to him. He joins you swiftly, and you straddle his thighs, lifting your hands to frame his face as you kiss him breathless. He is gasping against your mouth when you’re finished, and you smile and rest your forehead against his as you feel his pulse fluttering rapidly beneath your fingertips. You don’t want to overwhelm him, but when he opens his eyes and looks at you imploringly, you kiss him once more- and, with a soft huff against your cheek, he begins to sing again- softer this time, his lips drifting against your skin so he can sing directly into your ear. Twelve, how you _want_ him, and it’s _your_ turn to gasp as he trails his hand down your body to see to your pleasure as well.

It only takes a moment for you to see to your own comfort, and then he pulls you close and wraps his arms around you again, pulls your back flush against his chest and drops a hand to your hip… and you find the breath driven from your lungs as he carefully presses into you, and how his voice _breaks_ when he does. The two of you gasp together as you adjust to the sensations and the fire pulsing through your veins, and when next he sings, his voice finds a perfect harmony with your own. The duet the two of you create is magical; the song- _your_ song, yours and his, always- echoes off of the stone and makes you shiver.

His hand slips inward after a moment, his breath becoming ragged in your ear as he lets out a moan that takes the shape of your name. You say his, too- Raha, _Raha-!_\- and how he tightens his grip on you, how he gasps against your neck as you tip your head back to rest against his shoulder- you are soaring higher and higher, and he is right there with you, holding you tightly against his body. You feel his heart racing as he bends forward a bit, and he lets his breath out quickly and sucks it back in once and once more- you lose control then and there, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure scalding through you as he chases his own release. Through the fog you feel him tense, and the rapid, shallow bursts of his breath against your neck send an intense wave of sensation through you… he gasps, then cries your name even as you cry his all over again.

The music slowly fades away, a decrescendo into soft, panting breaths… and then even that fades into the silence of the water as you calm down together.

He is careful with you after, lifting you up gently and then settling you back against his body as he leans against the wall. You curl up in his lap, content to remain right where you are, listening to the shower and enjoying the warm water on your body. He lifts a hand to stroke your hair, and starts to sing again, softer still… a sweet serenade, one that curves your lips as you relax completely against him.

You could, you think, see yourself spending the rest of your life listening to this man’s beautiful voice… you smile, and you close your eyes.

Maybe you will.


	12. touch-starved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a bit of a struggle with writer's block, I finally managed to shake it off at... 2 in the morning. seems totally legit :Db
> 
> come yell at me on twitter: @aetherstitch
> 
> and enjoy!!

It starts innocently enough.

He is standing in his favorite spot atop the Rookery, watching the fireworks the Mean is setting off. You hesitate before you approach him, wondering if he’s here by himself because he wishes to be alone- but you bite your lip, and you take a chance. You walk toward him, ears perked and tail swishing, and you pause only for a second before you reach out and gently brush your hand against his left arm, right at his elbow- just to let him know you’re there as you stop beside him.

He jumps a little and looks at you in surprise, pupils expanding just a bit- just enough to let you know that yes, he had _certainly_ felt your touch.

“Ah! This is a pleasant surprise,” he says quickly, his years and years of leading coming to the forefront to hide the swift longing that darkens his gaze. “I had figured you would be with the others.”

“I was,” you say, “but I wanted to find you. I was a little worried when you disappeared, especially after…” You trail off as your ears slowly fall back. You don’t have to say it- he knows. It’s all too fresh in both of your minds, and likely will be for quite a long while.

He smiles at you, but you see right through it. “I’m quite well,” he says. “I appreciate your concern. I will retire to the Tower and rest once the show is over.” He looks back up, the fireworks reflecting in his eyes and making them sparkle- you should look at them, but you’re too busy looking at _him._ He looks back at you and tilts his head, flicking one of his ears. “You… are also well?” he asks. His voice is small, is _hesitant_\- he seems almost like he fears it’s not his place to worry about you.

You smile at him. “I feel fine,” you say, but, no- you aren’t fine, and he knows that just as well as you know _he_ isn’t. You look back at the sky, then, and so does he- but slowly, _so_ slowly, you dare to reach out and brush the back of your hand against his. The two of you had been close back then, yes, but you don’t know where his boundaries lay now… and so this is your silent question.

_Are things between us… different? Irreparably different?_

He jumps a little again, and you feel bad for startling him- you cast him a sheepish look, but it fades quickly enough when he looks at you like he’d been looking at the fireworks just a few breaths ago. His lips part just a little, and you hesitate before brushing your fingers against his- his brows come together, and he slowly rests his fingertips against yours, as though afraid to truly link your hands. You whisper his name, and then for a heart-stopping second you think he’ll pull away- but he moves closer, slips his fingers through yours and clasps your hands together. Above you the fireworks reach a sweeping crescendo, but neither of you notice- you’re too busy looking at one another, though you’re both barely breathing.

Finally, once the lights have faded away and the cheering has returned to the previous level of merriment, he smiles a little. “Come with me?” he asks softly, wistfully. You can’t find your voice fast enough, and so you nod and squeeze his hand tight. He glances down toward the Crystarium and then back to the Tower, then smiles crookedly- you recognize that smile immediately. He’s embarrassed. “I don’t wish to parade you in front of everyone, nor… nor do I wish untoward rumors to begin lest your reputation be damaged. Keep hold of me- I will teleport us to the Ocular.”

You nod, and he wraps you in his aether- the world around you shimmers, then turns cool, comforting blue as you find yourself in the Tower. You look around, then look at him and flick your ears worriedly. “Raha,” you begin, but he shakes his head slightly.

“Don’t say it. Not now.” He looks up at you and smiles crookedly again. “I know- and I’m thankful.” You huff a little, but you nod, and his smile softens. “This way,” he says, leading you toward the Umbilicus. It looks just the same as it had, and you look around curiously, wondering if he uses this room as a bedroom as well- but a portal on the back wall shimmers, and that answers your question well enough. You step out into the Tower, and you smile and take a deep breath, savoring the scent of the clean water and the familiar comfort it offers. He seems pleased, and his ears wiggle as he leads you up a long set of stairs and around to the left, then through another portal. This one dumps you out into a sitting room of sorts, and you sit down with him on a cozy pile of what seems to be haphazardly tossed cushions, pillows, furs, and blankets.

You grin, and he blushes deeply. This was the same mess he’d made of the tent the two of you had shared, insisting that it was far more comfortable than a couple of rickety cots, and _besides,_ the large cushion he had was more than big enough for both of you to sleep on!

The memory has always set warmth in your chest, even as it hurt once he was gone.

The two of you sit close enough that you’re nearly touching from shoulder to hip, your hands still linked together. You look down at them, and then at him, who seems _so_ reluctant to let go. You’re hesitant when you reach across and brush his hair back from the crystal that shines on his cheek and his neck, but he tips his head into your touch as you allow yourself what you’d wanted since you’d figured out it really was him. It’s more important that _he_ allows it, you think, and he’s practically leaning against you as you trace the path the crystal takes, marveling at how smooth and _warm_ it is.

You bow your head briefly, then look back at him. “You’ve been alone this whole time?” you whisper.

“Yes,” he whispers back. Your heart breaks- but you set about mending it quickly, and his as well. You purr softly as you lean against him just a little more, as your hand drops from his face down to his spoken arm. You trace the skin alongside the leather straps he wears, and he shivers and drops his head forward, closing his eyes tightly. One hundred years on the First, and who knew how many after he’d woken to find the world in shambles- all of it alone, cloaked and hooded and kept in solitude.

You can’t stand the thought of that. Not him, _never_ him.

You draw your fingers over his knuckles, slip beneath just a bit where he grips your hand so tightly, and when you do he slowly loosens his hold- and you press further to gently caress his palm. His breath hitches, and you smile and carefully rest your head against his. If he will but let you, you’ll remind him what it felt like back then, when the two of you would playfully shove one another and lay together reading, or when you’d go on rides on your chocobo or lean against one another as you’d stagger back from the Seventh Heaven, drunk on more than just alcohol. You let go of his hand only to cradle it gently in both of yours, trail your fingers along the inside of his, and you watch his lashes flutter. It would be easier if he _weren’t_ wearing this… leather thing, you think, you don’t even know what to call it because it certainly isn’t a glove. You take your time, therefore, running one hand up his arm and up beneath his sleeve until you find the top of the leather, and then pause briefly to peer at him.

“Is this okay?” you ask. You don’t want to scare him, nor alarm him- and you don’t know enough about his state of mind now to risk taking the liberties you would have back then. He nods, though, and quickly, and so you smile and push the leather down and off, and then you return your focus to his skin. You keep your touch firm as you run your hands down his arm, as you take his in yours again and this time carefully, gently massage his hand with your thumb pressed against his palm. His lips are parted and his brows together as though he’s focusing intensely, and you think he probably is- he wants to savor this, and you want him to as well. You keep hold of his hand with one of yours and draw your other back up his arm, beneath his sleeve to touch his shoulder- there is no crystal here, and you smile as you push his sleeve up and follow the lines of the tattoo that stands out just as clearly now as it had so long ago.

With a soft hum, you shift and kneel behind him, then carefully pull the tie from his hair and unravel his braid. His hair is still _so_ soft, and you smile as you draw your fingers through it. He tips his head back and makes a soft, pleased sound, and your movements become almost lazy as you drag your nails along his scalp. You don’t touch his ears yet, though they flick and twitch temptingly- that’s another line you’re not sure if you can, or should, cross. You comb through his hair, still purring softly, and he leans back into your touch and tips his head back as well- and then he lifts his hands and settles them atop yours, and the matter of his ears is settled as simply as him guiding your hands to them and pressing them down. You laugh softly, fondly, and begin to rub his ears as requested- the sound he makes then is low and throaty, and you shiver a little. He drops his head back as you massage his ears, firm pressure at the base lightening to soft, gentle caresses at the tips, and he shudders. You can’t imagine how it’s felt to have them trapped beneath a hood for that long- you can’t even begin to imagine it. You look at him and smile- he looks absolutely blissful, spoken hand settled at his collarbone and crystal at his side.

Seeing as how he’s enjoying it so much, you stay right where you are for a long while, alternating between combing through his hair and gently scritching at the base of his ears, then pressing them down and drawing your fingers along the soft fur. He’s almost panting by the time you move away, and you’re a mix of worried and embarrassed as you crouch in front of him, but he gives you a look of such _want_ that you forget all about both in favor of continuing. His pupils have blown wide, giving you the impression that you’re looking into a deep well or at the darkest of garnets, and you carefully remove his sandals before giving his legs and feet the same treatment you’d given his left arm and hand. You’ve not quite figured out how to approach the crystal yet, but you’ll get there- it’s part of him, after all, and you plan on leaving not a single ilm un-touched by the time you’re finished.

He drops back onto the pillows with a soft grunt, and you laugh quietly and press a kiss to one of his knees. You can’t help it, and he lifts his head and looks at you with a dazed smile.

By the time you’ve finished massaging his calves and lower thighs, you’ve begun to wonder exactly what to do about his robe. He’s made not a single move to rid himself of it, but then again, he’s not really made a single move at _all_\- every single iota of his attention is on your hands. You pause, then shift your attention to his right arm, shrug to yourself, and scoot up to his right side and take his hand in yours. His eyes widen as he watches you explore the crystal, as you trace the golden veins that run throughout. No matter how hard you peer at it you can’t tell if his arm is flesh and blood beneath it- it’s warm, yes, and you think you feel his pulse fluttering at his wrist… but if you do, you reason, it’s not blood- it’s aether. He drops his head back to the blankets and closes his eyes as you run your hands up his arm, up beneath his sleeve. You feel no end to the crystal here, and you wonder how far it goes- you trail your fingertips back down lightly, then pluck at his sleeve and raise an eyebrow.

He blushes, but slowly pushes himself up and takes a breath. It doesn’t surprise you, truly, that it all comes off as one piece- it’s certainly wrapped elaborately, and it’s not likely _meant_ to come off that way, but once the thin golden belt is gone, he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside. He doesn’t look at you now, keeping his gaze somewhere to his left- he can’t stand the thought of seeing disgust on your face. You reach out and carefully catch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, draw him back to look at you, and you smile at him and murmur his name. His ears quiver, as does his lower lip, and _now_ you allow yourself to lean forward and kiss him. The kiss is soft and chaste, gentle as a breath of air- you linger there, your lips barely touching his, until he shifts and lifts his left hand to settle on the back of your neck. The heat that has built between you is undeniable, though you still aren’t quite ready to go further- you want to reassure him, you want him to know how beautiful you think he is, and so you kiss him a moment more before gently drawing back and smiling at him.

You turn your gaze, then, to the crystal creeping down his body. It trails over his collarbone on both sides, though on the left it has gone no further, instead seeming mostly localized to his neck and the top part of his shoulder. On his right side, it goes halfway down his chest at least, then wraps around to climb up his back. You can’t really massage the crystal, you think, though you run your hands over it and marvel again at how smooth and warm it is. There’s a balance here, you think, and you smile as you turn your attention to his torso. You run both hands down his chest, down to his flat stomach and then to his sides. He is every bit as muscular as he had been then, forever a young man in his prime thanks to the Tower- though you know just by looking at him that the soul within is weary and desperate for someone to cling to. You will be that person, you promise yourself- after _all_ he has been for you, you will _gladly_ be this for him.

When you dip your fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts his breath hitches, and you look up at him and smile softly. You expect him to perhaps be shy, at least to bid you wait just a moment- he surprises you by hooking his thumbs into the waistband and lifting his hips, then pulling his legs up so he can shuck them off and toss them just as he’d tossed his robe. You grin at him, and he blushes- but he pouts at you, and you _have_ to kiss him once more. You hover over him as you kiss him deeply, learn how he tastes all over again and think back to the first night you’d done this- you’d both been clumsy, and you’d laughed a lot. It had been perfect in all its imperfection, and you figure this will be no different. You feel something soft bat at your arm and then gently wind around your hips, and you smile against his mouth before drawing back. His tail is as soft as it's ever been, though white-tipped like his hair, now- and you stroke it from base to tip, relishing the gentle brush of his fur against your skin as he flicks it and curls it around wherever he can reach.

After a moment, you settle yourself carefully along his left side and run your hand down his stomach once more, this time teasingly drawing along the red hair that leads down from his navel. He gasps against your mouth and you nudge his nose with yours, and the sound he makes when you take him in hand is _so_ sweet- that he comes entirely undone within just a moment, spilling over your fingers and onto his stomach with a cry of your name, is the most flattering thing you think you’ve ever experienced… _and _the most arousing.

You scatter kisses across his face and neck as he comes down from the high you’d sent him spiraling to, nuzzle his hair and purr loudly- he turns his head toward you, breath slowly evening out as he relaxes. He is utterly boneless, and you smile and nuzzle his ear- then blink when he shifts and peers up at you. He is grinning, you note, and you have a split second to wonder why when he flips you onto your back and kisses the breath out of you.

“Lay still, my warrior,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I want… to _remember._”

You smile, and you rest your hands above your head… the warmth in his gaze, the _promise,_ tells you that neither of you will be going anywhere for _quite_ a while.

Luckily, there’s nowhere either of you has to be save for right where you are, with one another. You couldn’t be happier… and neither, you think with a smile, could he.


	13. reach me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, REALLY wanted to contribute to Feral Friday. It's been MONTHS, LITERALLY.
> 
> so here I skid in at 11:55pm. :Db
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter: @aetherstitch
> 
> and enjoy! <3

Looking down at him, you think you’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life.

He lays beneath you, crimson eyes heavy-lidded, a dark blush splashed across his cheeks and nose- his arms are around you, fingers flexing erratically on your shoulders. His full lips are parted as he breathes unevenly, the entirety of his attention clearly fixated on you… and you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself, seeing him this way. You’re both still fully clothed, though you imagine you won’t be for much longer, and he draws you down for another long, deep kiss- you give it to him gladly, lick into his mouth and drink in the soft moan that he can’t withhold. You are his everything, and everything he does proves that to you over and over.

After a moment he tightens his grip on you, shifts beneath you and presses up against you. Your weight is settled between his legs, and the sudden friction makes you gasp a little- you’d almost lost track of your own want in your desire to make him forget all that’s happened in the past few moons. For all that he adores you, you love him with every ounce of strength inside of you, a kind of strength you hadn’t known you’d possessed until coming here and meeting him for the second time. He both is and isn’t the young man you’d explored the Tower with, the one who’d obnoxiously goaded you and yet shown you his unbridled enthusiasm when others laughed at him over it. You’ve learned so much more about him since being Called to the First than you had back then, even though then he’d talked your ear off and now he’d only smiled faintly and looked up at the stars by your side.

Somehow, you think his silence had said volumes more than his words ever had.

He exhales shakily against your lips and swallows thickly, breath still coming fast and uneven. That he wants you is no secret, it never really had been even back then- he’d been much more forward then, beckoning you to his cot with a coy smile and a swish of his tail. You want him just as much now as you had then, and you’d pounced him to the cot with a great deal of enthusiasm- you’d put him on the bed with the same amount, all these years later. You kiss his chin, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and you look down into his gorgeous eyes with a crooked smile.

“What do you want?” you ask him.

He shifts beneath you again, chin tipping up just a little. “You,” he replies, his voice low and breathy. “Always you. Nothing more.”

Your smile falters just a little, but you aren’t upset- you’re _moved,_ more than you can really process in the moment. “You have me,” you say. “I’m right here.”

He smiles brilliantly up at you, a shining light in the darkness of your room- he is _so_ lovely in the moonlight. “I can scarce believe it even now,” he admits. “I can feel you so intensely, and yet part of me still reaches…” He trails off.

You shift your weight, take his left hand and draw it around to your chest, press it to your heart and let him feel how it races. “I’m right here,” you say again, and his brows come together as he nods. His eyes have darkened, pupils blown wide enough to almost make him look like a Keeper, and he presses his hand harder against your chest.

“So you are,” he breathes, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “So am I. What would you ask of me, my warrior?”

You’re briefly confused, though you have to admit that as lust-fogged as you are, rational thought is somewhat beyond you. “I…” You trail off, then exhale and lean down to kiss him again. His hand trails lower, nimble fingers making quick work of tugging your shirt out of your trousers. “I want you to reach me,” you finally say helplessly.

He looks surprised, but the smile that curves his lips then is nothing short of radiant. “Anything,” he murmurs. “Anything for you.” He pulls you down, wraps his arms around you and kisses you deeply. You melt against him and he draws his fingers through your hair, along the back of your neck- he delights in your shiver, and you delight in him.

You undress each other slowly, taking your sweet time in worshipping every ilm of skin- or crystal- bared. He has not been touched by anyone in years, and he blooms beneath yours in a way he hadn’t back then. He is not particularly shy about his body, though you’d expected a bit of discomfort at his changed appearance- he sees himself in your eyes, and he is confident enough to let you do as you will with him. You trail kisses along the seam of skin and crystal and he arches beneath you, presses into your touch and tangles his fingers in your hair. He is yours, this was his destiny- but he is more than this, more than the sum of his actions and his sacrifices, and you want him to know that.

He is gentle and thorough with you, remembering how to handle you as the night wears on. Some of what he does is instinct, some is clearly memory; all of it leaves you breathless. He wrings a soft cry from you as he presses your legs apart and sets his mouth against you- he doesn’t tease. He is singularly focused, and you feel the heat low in your body beginning to tighten. Your self-control falters a bit more with each lick, each gentle nibble, and when he sucks lightly you have to squirm away from him. He sits back and looks at you with a lazy sort of satisfaction, his tail swaying back and forth as he licks his lips and hums softly. You are a flushed mess, panting and far too close to the edge, and he is very pleased with that.

“I would ask something of you, if you would but allow me,” he says, his voice low and a little rough.

You are pleasantly surprised, and you nod vehemently. “Anything,” you say, echoing his earlier response to you. You don’t want him to feel like what he wants doesn’t matter, because to you, nothing matters more.

He smiles at you again and leans over you, kisses you carefully and then trails kisses along your cheekbone. He stops at your ear and whispers, “Take my hands.” You are briefly confused, but he draws back and kisses you, then scatters kisses across your neck and torso before settling himself between your legs again. You reach for him, take his hands palm to palm and link your fingers together- he leans down and presses his lips to your inner thigh, then makes you see stars- you hold his hands tightly as you cry his name and unravel for him, and his tail curls up over his back as he squeezes yours in return.

When you regain at least some of your scattered wits, he has your hands cupped in his own as he presses a warm kiss to each palm. His eyes are filled with joy, and you gaze at him in wide-eyed awe for a moment before turning your hands to pull him down. He leans over you and you wrap your arms around him, kiss him breathless and make him tremble- he yet aches for you, and you haven’t forgotten that fact. He buckles above you when you touch him, falls to his forearms and rests his forehead against yours as the blush on his face darkens. His breath comes in harsh, sharp pants now, and you see just how close to the edge he is from sending _you_ over- you grip him firmly and he wails. The sounds he makes are a wonder to you, and his voice breaks on your name as he spills in your hands and onto your stomach- you couldn’t be happier, even as his arms give out and he collapses on top of you.

Neither of you say anything as you clean up a little- nothing seems quite enough. He lays down next to you and smiles, ruby-red eyes glowing in the darkness as his head rests on the pillow next to yours. “I love you,” he says quietly, lifting a hand to gently trail along your jaw and down your neck, then along your collarbone.

“I love you, too,” you say, admiring him in the dim light- you reach out as well, draw the backs of your fingers along the crystal that crawls up his cheek and over his jaw. “My Raha…”

His eyes widen, then fill with tears as he lets out a breathless laugh. “My heart will never stop skipping a beat every time I hear you say my name,” he says, gazing at you adoringly once more. “That you see me as yours is…” He trails off and shakes his head- he can’t find the words, but then again, neither can you.

You shift a little and pull him close, wrap him up in your arms and make sure he’s snugly tucked beneath the soft blankets. Maybe words aren’t really needed, you think, and he seems to agree from the way he presses his nose to your chest and lets out a long, slow sigh as he seems to melt into the mattress.

So long as he can reach you, you’ll be happy with anything.


End file.
